SHE    THREW    UP    HER    HAND,    AND    A    NASTY     LITTLE    AUTOMATIC    WAS 
COVERING    THE    SECRETARY'S    HEART. 


Drawn  by  William  Van  Dresser. 


(Chapter  24.) 


The  Cab  of 
The  Sleeping  Horse 


By 
John  Reed  Scott 


Author  of  "The  Colonel  of  the  Red  Huzzars,"  "Beatrix  of 
Clare,"  "The  Impostor,"   "The  Last  Try,"    "The 
Unforgiving  Offender,"  "  The  Duke  of 
Oblivion,"  ete. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Gbe    fmicfterbocfter    press 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY 
JOHN   REED  SCOTT 

Fourth  Impression 


Xtbe  ftnicherbocbet  prcee,  Hew  ]Qerk 


PS 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

I.  —  THE  PHOTOGRAPH  i 

II.  —  THE  VOICE  ON  THE  WIRE          .         .       14 

III.  —  VISITORS         .....      30 

IV.  —  CRENSHAW      .....      46 

V.  —  ANOTHER  WOMAN    ....      64 

VI.  —  THE  GREY-STONE  HOUSE         .         .      78 
VII.  —  SURPRISES       .....      88 

VIII.—  THE  STORY     .....     101 

IX.  —  DECOYED        .....     117 

X.  —  SKIRMISHING  .....     134 

XI.  —  HALF  A  LIE    .....     152 

XII.  —  CARPENTER     .....     178 

XIII.  —  THE  MARQUIS         .        .        .        .196 

XIV.  —  THE  SLIP  OF  PAPER          .        .        .213 

XV.  —  IDENTIFIED     .....    231 
iii 

933811 


iv  Contents 


PAGB 


XVI. — ANOTHER  LETTER    ....     255 

XVIL— IN  THE  TAXI  ....    270 

XVIII.— DOUBT    .        .        .        .        .        .    279 

XIX.— MARSTON        .         .-;••*.         .         .288 

XX. — PLAYING  THE  GAME          .        .        .    297 

XXI.— THE  KEY- WORD      .        .        .        .311 

XXII. — THE  RATAPLAN  .         .         .321 

XXIII. — CAUGHT 331 

XXIV.— THE  CANDLE  FLAME        .        .        .343 


The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 


The    Cab    of 
The  Sleeping   Horse 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH 

"A  BEAUTIFUL  woman  is  never  especially 
clever,"  Rochester  remarked. 

Harleston  blew  a  smoke  ring  at  the  big  drop- 
light  on  the  table  and  watched  it  swirl  under  the 
cardinal  shade. 

"The  cleverest  woman  I  know  is  also  the  most 
beautiful,"  he  replied.  "Yes,  I  can  name  her 
offhand.  She  has  all  the  finesse  of  her  sex,  to 
gether  with  the  reasoning  mind;  she  is  surpass 
ingly  good  to  look  at,  and  knows  how  to  use  her 
looks  to  obtain  her  end;  as  the  occasion  demands, 
she  can  be  as  cold  as  steel  or  warm  as  a  summer's 

night;  she " 

z 


2         The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"How  are  her  morals?"  Rochester  interrupted. 

"Morals  or  the  want  of  them  do  not,  I  take  it, 
enter  into  the  question,"  Harleston  responded. 
"Cleverness  is  quite  apart  from  morals." 

"You  have  not  named  the  wonderful  one," 
Clarke  reminded  him. 

"And  I  won't  now.  Rochester's  impertinent 
question  forbids  introducing  her  to  this  company. 
Moreover,"  as  he  drew  out  his  watch,  "it  is  half- 
after-twelve  of  a  fine  spring  night,  and,  unless  we 
wish  to  be  turned  out  of  the  Club,  we  would  better 
be  going  homeward  or  elsewhere.  Who's  for  a 
walk  up  the  avenue?" 

"  I  am — as  far  as  Dupont  Circle,"  said  Clarke. 

"All  hands?"  Harleston  inquired. 

"It's  too  late  for  exercise,"  Rochester  declined; 
"and  our  way  lies  athwart  your  path." 

"I  don't  think  you  make  good  company,  any 
way,  with  your  questions  and  your  athwarts," 
Harleston  retorted  amiably,  as  Clarke  and  he 
moved  off. 

"Who  is  your  clever  woman?"  asked  Clarke. 

"Curious?"  Harleston  smiled. 

"Naturally — it's  not  in  you  to  give  praise 
undeserved." 


The  Photograph  3 

"I'm  not  sure  it  is  praise,  Clarke;  it  depends  on 
one's  point  of  view.  However,  the  lady  in  ques 
tion  bears  several  names  which  she  uses  as  expe 
diency  or  her  notion  suits  her.  Her  maiden  name 
was  Madeline  Cuthbert.  She  married  a  Colonel 
Spencer  of  Ours;  he  divorced  her,  after  she  had 
eloped  with  a  rich  young  lieutenant  of  his  regi 
ment.  She  didn't  marry  the  lieutenant;  she 
simply  plucked  him  clean  and  he  shot  himself. 
I've  never  understood  why  he  didn't  first  shoot 
her." 

"Doubtless  it  shows  her  cleverness?"  Clarke 
remarked. 

"Doubtless  it  does,"  replied  Harleston,  neatly 
spitting  a  leaf  on  the  pavement  with  his  stick. 
"Afterward  she  had  various  adventures  with 
various  wealthy  men,  and  always  won.  Her 
particularly  spectacular  adventure  was  posing, 
at  the  instigation  of  the  Duke  of  Lotzen,  as  the 
wife  of  the  Archduke  Armand  of  Valeria;  and  she 
stirred  up  a  mess  of  turmoil  until  the  matter  was 
cleared  up." 

"I  remember  something  of  it!"  Clarke  ex 
claimed. 

"By    that   time    she    had    so   fascinated   her 


4        The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

employer,  the  Duke  of  Lotzen,  that  he  actually 
married  her — morganatically,  of  course." 

"Again  showing  her  astonishing  cleverness." 

"Just  so — and,  cleverer  still,  she  held  him  until 
his  death  five  years  later.  Which  death,  despite 
the  authorized  report,  was  not  natural:  the  King 
of  Valeria  killed  him  in  a  sword  duel  in  Ferida 
Palace  on  the  principal  street  of  Dornlitz.  The 
lady  then  betook  herself  to  Paris  and  took  up  her 
present  life  of  extreme  respectability — and  poli 
tical  usefulness  to  our  friends  of  Wilhelm-strasse. 
In  fact,  I  understand  that  she  has  more  than 
made  good  professionally,  as  well  as  fascinated  at 
least  half  a  dozen  Cabinet  Ministers  besides. 

"Wilhelm-strasse?"  Clarke  queried. 

Harleston  nodded.  "She  is  in  the  German 
Secret  Service." 

"They  trust  her?"  Clarke  marvelled. 

"That  is  the  most  remarkable  thing  about  her," 
said  Harleston,  "so  far  as  I  know,  she  has  never 
been  false  to  the  hand  that  paid  her." 

"Which,  in  her  position,  is  the  cleverest  thing 
of  all!"  Clarke  remarked. 

They  passed  the  English  Legation,  a  bulging, 
three-storied,  red  brick,  dormer-roofed  atrocity, 


The  Photograph  5 

standing  a  few  feet  in  from  the  sidewalk ;  ugly  as 
original  sin,  externally  as  repellent  as  the  side 
walk  and  the  narrow  little  drive  under  the  porte- 
cochhe  are  dirty. 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  Clarke,  "that  the  British 
Legation  cannot  afford  a  man-servant  to  clean 
its  front." 

"No  one  is  presumed  to  arrive  or  leave  except 
in  carriages  or  motor  cars,"  Harleston  explained. 
"  They  can  push  through  the  dirt  to  the  entrance." 

"Why,  would  you  believe  it,"  Clarke  added, 
"the  deep  snow  of  last  February  lay  on  the  walks 
untouched  until  well  into  the  following  day.  The 
blooming  Englishmen  just  then  began  to  appre 
ciate  that  it  had  snowed  the  previous  night.  Are 
they  so  slow  on  the  secret-service  end?" 

"They  have  quite  enough  speed  on  that  end," 
Harleston  responded.  "They  are  on  the  job 
always  and  ever — also  the  Germans." 

"You've  bumped  into  them?" 

"Frequently." 

"Ever  encounter  the  clever  lady,  with  the 
assortment  of  husbands?" 

"Once  or  twice.  Moreover,  having  known  her 
as  a  little  girl,  and  her  family  before  her,  I've 


6         The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

been  interested  to  watch  her  travelling — her 
remarkable  career.  And  it  has  been  a  career, 
Clarke;  believe  me,  it's  been  a  career.  For  pure 
cleverness,  and  the  appreciation  of  opportunities 
with  the  ability  to  grasp  them,  the  devil  himself 
can't  show  anything  more  picturesque.  My  hat's 
off  to  her!" 

"I  should  like  to  meet  her,"  Clarke  said. 

"Come  to  Paris,  sometime  when  I'm  there,  and 
I'll  be  delighted  to  present  you  to  her." 

"Doesn't  she  ever  come  to  America?" 

"I  think  not.  She  says  the  Continent,  and 
Paris  in  particular,  is  good  enough  for  her." 

Harleston  left  Clarke  at  Dupont  Circle  and 
turned  down  Massachusetts  Avenue. 

The  broad  thoroughfare  was  deserted,  yet  at 
the  intersection  of  Eighteenth  Street  he  came 
upon  a  most  singular  sight. 

A  cab  was  by  the  curb,  its  horse  lying  prostrate 
on  the  asphalt,  its  box  vacant  of  driver. 

Harleston  stopped.  What  had  he  here!  Then 
he  looked  about  for  a  policeman.  Of  course,  none 
was  in  sight.  Policemen  never  are  in  sight  on 
Massachusetts  Avenue. 

As  a  general  rule,  Harleston  was  not  inquisitive 


The  Photograph  7 

as  to  things  that  did  not  concern  him — especially 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning;  but  the  waiting 
cab,  the  deserted  box,  the  recumbent  horse  in  the 
shafts  excited  his  curiosity. 

The  cab,  probably,  was  from  the  stand  in  Dupont 
Circle;  and  the  cabby  likely  was  asleep  inside  the 
cab,  with  a  bit  too  much  rum  aboard.  Neverthe 
less,  the  matter  was  worth  a  step  into  Eighteenth 
Street  and  a  few  seconds'  time.  It  might  yield 
only  a  drunken  driver's  mutterings  at  being  dis 
turbed;  it  might  yield  much  of  profit.  And  the 
longer  Harleston  looked  the  more  he  was  impelled 
to  investigate.  Finally  curiosity  prevailed.  ,"' 

The  door  of  the  cab  was  closed  and  he  looked 
inside. 

The  cab  was  empty. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  the  sleeping  horse  came 
suddenly  to  life;  with  a  snort  it  struggled  to  its 
feet,  then  looked  around  apologetically  at  Har 
leston,  as  though  begging  to  be  excused  for  having 
been  caught  in  a  most  reprehensible  act  for  a  cab 
horse. 

"That's  all  right,  old  boy,"  Harleston  smiled. 
"You  doubtless  are  in  need  of  all  the  sleep  you 
can  get.  Now,  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  stand 


8         The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

still,  we'll  have  a  look  at  the  interior  of  your 
appendix." 

The  light  from  the  street  lamps  penetrated  but 
faintly  inside  the  cab,  so  Harleston,  being  averse 
to  lighting  a  match  save  for  an  instant  at  the  end 
of  the  search,  was  forced  to  grope  in  semi-darkness. 

On  the  cushion  of  the  seat  was  a  light  lap  spread, 
part  of  the  equipment  of  the  cab.  The  pockets 
on  the  doors  yielded  nothing.  He  turned  up  the 
cushion  and  felt  under  it  f  nothing.  On  the  floor, 
however,  was  a  woman's  handkerchief,  filmy  and 
small,  and  without  the  least  odour  clinging  to  it. 

"Strange!"  Harleston  muttered.  "They  are 
always  covered  with  perfume." 

Moreover,  while  a  very  expensive  handkerchief, 
it  was  without  initial — which  also  was  most 
unusual. 

He  put  the  bit  of  lace  into  his  coat  and  went  on 
with  the  search: 

Three  American  Beauty  roses,  somewhat  crushed 
and  broken,  were  in  the  far  corner.  From  certain 
abrasions  in  the  stems,  he  concluded  that  they 
had  been  torn,  or  loosed,  from  a  woman's 
corsage. 

He  felt  again — then  he  struck  a  match,  leaning 


The  Photograph  9 

well  inside  the  cab  so  as  to  hide  the  light  as  much 
as  possible. 

The  momentary  flare  disclosed  a  square  envelope 
standing  on  edge  and  close  in  against  the  seat. 
Extinguishing  the  match,  he  caught  it  up. 

It  was  of  white  linen  of  superior  quality,  with 
out  superscription,  and  sealed;  the  contents  were 
very  light — a  single  sheet  of  paper,  likely. 

The  handkerchief,  the  crushed  roses,  the  unad- 
dressed,  sealed  envelope — the  horse,  the  empty 
and  deserted  cab,  standing  before  a  vacant  lot,  at 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning!  Surely  any  one  of 
them  was  enough  to  stir  the  imagination ;  together 
they  were  a  tantalizing  mystery,  calling  for  solu 
tion  and  beckoning  one  on. 

Harleston  took  another  look  around,  saw  no 
one,  and  calmly  pocketed  the  envelope.  Then, 
after  noting  the  number  of  the  cab,  No.  333,  he 
gathered  up  the  lines,  whipped  the  ends  about 
the  box,  and  chirped  to  the  horse  to  proceed. 

The  horse  promptly  obeyed;  turned  west  on 
Massachusetts  Avenue,  and  backed  up  to  his 
accustomed  stand  in  Dupont  Circle  as  neatly  as 
though  his  driver  were  directing  him. 

Harleston   watched   the   proceeding   from   the 


io       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

corner  of  Eighteenth  Street;  after  which  he  re 
sumed  his  way  to  his  apartment  in  the  Colling- 
wood. 

A  sleepy  elevator  boy  tried  to  put  him  off  at 
the  fourth  floor,  and  he  had  some  trouble  in  con 
vincing  the  lad  that  the  sixth  was  his  floor.  In 
fact,  Harleston's  mind  being  occupied  with  the 
recent  affair,  he  would  have  let  himself  be  put  off 
at  the  fourth  floor,  if  he  had  not  happened  to 
notice  the  large  gilt  numbers  on  the  glass  panel 
of  the  door  opposite  the  elevator.  The  bright 
light  shining  through  this  panel  caught  his  eye, 
and  he  wondered  indifferently  that  it  should  be 
burning  at  such  an  hour. 

Subsequently  he  understood  the  light  in  No.  401 ; 
but  then  it  was  too  late.  Had  he  been  delayed 
ten  seconds,  or  had  he  gotten  off  at  the  fourth 
floor,  he  would  have — .  However,  I  anticipate; 
or  rather  I  speculate  on  what  would  have  hap 
pened  under  hypothetical  conditions — which  is 
fatuous  in  the  extreme;  hypothetical  conditions 
never  are  existent  facts. 

Harleston,  having  gained  his  apartment,  lei 
surely  removed  from  his  pockets  the  handkerchief, 
the  roses,  and  the  envelope,  and  placed  them  on 


The  Photograph  1 1 

x« 

the  library  table.  With  the  same  leisureliness, 
he  removed  his  light  top-coat  and  his  hat  and  hung 
them  in  the  closet.  Returning  to  the  library,  he 
chose  a  cigarette,  tapped  it  on  the  back  of  his 
hand,  struck  a  match,  and  carefully  passed  the 
flame  across  the  tip.  After  several  puffs,  taken 
with  conscious  deliberation,  he  sat  down  and  took 
up  the  handkerchief. 

This  was  Harleston's  way:  to  delay  deliberately 
the  gratification  of  his  curiosity,  so  as  to  keep 
it  always  under  control.  An  important  letter — 
where  haste  was  not  an  essential — was  unopened 
for  a  while;  his  morning  newspaper  he  would  let 
lie  untouched  beside  his  plate  for  sufficiently  long 
to  check  his  natural  inclination  to  glance  hastily 
over  the  headlines  of  the  first  page.  In  every 
thing,  he  tried  by  self-imposed  curbs  to  teach  him 
self  poise  and  patience  and  a  quiet  mind.  He  had 
been  at  it  for  years.  By  now  he  had  himself  well 
in  hand;  though,  being  exceedingly  impetuous  by 
nature,  he  occasionally  broke  over. 

His  course  in  this  instance  was  typical — the 
more  so,  indeed,  since  he  had  broken  over  and  lost 
his  poise  only  that  afternoon.  He  wanted  to 
know  what  was  inside  that  blank  envelope.  He 


12       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

was  persuaded  it  contained  that  which  would 
either  solve  the  mystery  of  the  cab,  or  would  in 
itself  lead  on  to  a  greater  mystery.  In  either 
event,  a  most  interesting  document  lay  within 
his  reach — and  he  took  up  the  handkerchief. 
Discipline !  The  curb  must  be  maintained. 

And  the  handkerchief  yielded  nothing — not 
even  when  inspected  under  the  drop-light  and 
with  the  aid  of  a  microscope.  Not  a  mark  to 
indicate  who  carried  it  nor  whence  it  came. — 
Yet  stay ;  in  the  closed  room  he  detected  what  had 
been  lost  in  the  open :  a  faint,  a  very  faint,  odour  as 
of  azurea  sachet.  It  was  only  a  suggestion ;  vague 
and  uncertain,  and  entirely  absent  at  times.  And 
Harleston  shook  his  head.  The  very  fact  that 
there  was  nothing  about  it  by  which  it  might  be 
identified  indicated  the  deliberate  purpose  to 
avoid  identification.  He  put  it  aside,  and,  taking 
up  the  roses,  laid  them  under  the  light. 

They  were  the  usual  American  Beauties;  only 
larger  and  more  gorgeous  than  the  general  run 
— which  might  be  taken  as  an  indication  of  the 
wealth  of  the  giver,  or  of  the  male  desire  to  please 
the  female;  or  of  both.  Of  course,  there  was  the 
possibility  that  the  roses  were  of  the  woman's  own 


The  Photograph  13 

i 
buying ;  but  women  rarely  waste  their  own  money 

on  American  Beauties — and  Harleston  knew  it. 
A  minute  examination  convinced  him  that  they 
had  been  crushed  while  being  worn  and  then 
trampled  on.  The  stems,  some  of  the  green  leaves, 
and  the  edges  of  one  of  the  blooms  were  scarred  as 
by  a  heel;  the  rest  of  the  blooms  were  crushed 
but  not  scarred.  Which  indicated  violence — first 
gentle,  then  somewhat  drastic. 

He  put  the  flowers  aside  and  picked  up  the 
envelope,  looked  it  over  carefully,  then,  with  a 
peculiarly  thin  and  very  sharp  knife,  he  cut  the 
sealing  of  the  flap  so  neatly  that  it  could  be  resealed 
and  no  one  suspect  it  had  been  opened.  As  he 
turned  back  the  flap,  a  small  unmounted  photo 
graph  fell  out  and  lay  face  upward  on  the  table. 

Harleston  gave  a  low  whistle  of  surprise. 

It  was  Madeline  Spencer. 


II 

THE  VOICE  ON  THE  WIRE 

"GOOD  morning,  madame!"  said  Harleston, 
bowing  to  the  photograph.  "This  is  quite  a  sur 
prise.  You're  taken  very  recently,  and  you're 
worth  looking  at  for  divers  aesthetic  reasons — 
none  of  which,  however,  is  the  reason  for  your 
being  in  the  envelope." 

He  drew  out  the  sheet  of  paper  and  opened  it. 
On  it  were  typewritten,  without  address  nor  signa 
ture,  these  letters: 

DPNFNZQFEFBPOYVOAEELEHHEJYD 
BIWFTCCFVDXNQYCECLU  GSUGDZYJ 
ENRYUIGYBSNRTDUHJWHGYZIPEPA 
WPPOIMCHEI  PRFBJXFVWWFTZNJ  PY 
UFJDILDCEMBRVZDAYVA  WALUMOFN 
FCVDPGLPWFUUWVIE  PT  K  V  I  PUMSFZ 
NPSJ  JRFYASGZ  S  DACS  I  GYUO  FCEXA 
AOIDJ  JFC  JPSONPKUUYVCVCTIHDP 
XMNOYK  ENHUSKHYMSFR  RFC YWSLLW 
SMVPPUNE  I  FID  J  L  ZRWEHPQGODFUZ 
TCE  M  Q  I  QWNF Y JT  AALUMHJXILEEHY 
ISOVOAZUCUDINBRLUZ  ICUOTTUS  V 
LPNFFVQFANPVCYJH I LTPFISGHCW 
HYI CPPNFDOUOCLDUWEIVIPJNQBV 
ZLMIJRVKDS  FRLWE  GBKQYWSF  FB  E  I 
YORHMYSHTECPUTMPJXFNRNEEUME 
I  L  J  B  W  V. 

14 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  15 

"Cipher!"  commented  Harleston,  looking  at  it 
with  half -closed  eyes.  .  .  .  "The  Blocked-Out 
Square,  I  imagine.  No  earthly  use  in  trying  to 
dig  it  out  without  the  key- word ;  and  the  key- word 
'  he  gave  a  shrug.  "I'll  let  Carpenter  try 
his  hand  on  it ;  it's  too  much  for  me." 

He  knew  from  experience  the  futility  of  attempt 
ing  the  solution  of  a  cipher  by  any  but  an  expert ; 
and  even  with  an  expert  it  was  rarely  successful. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  key  to  a  secret  cipher  is 
discovered  only  by  accident  or  by  betrayal.  There 
are  hundreds  of  secret  ciphers — any  person  can 
devise  one — in  everyday  use  by  the  various  de 
partments  of  the  various  governments;  but,  in 
the  main,  they  are  amplifications  or  variations  of 
some  half-dozen  that  have  become  generally  ac 
cepted  as  susceptible  of  the  quickest  and  simplest 
translation  with  the  key,  and  the  most  puzzling 
without  the  key.  Of  these,  the  Blocked-Out 
Square,  first  used  by  Blaise  de  Vigenerie  in  1589, 
is  probably  still  the  most  generally  employed,  and, 
because  of  its  very  simplicity,  the  most  impossible 
of  solution.  Change  the  key-word  and  one  has 
a  new  cipher.  Any  word  will  do;  nor  does  it 

V 

matter  how  often  a  letter  is  repeated;  neither  is 


1 6       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

one  held  to  one  word :  it  may  be  two  or  three  or 
any  reasonable  number.  Simply  apply  it  to  the 
alphabetic  Blocked-Out  Square  and  the  message 
is  evident;  no  books  whatever  are  required.  A 
slip  of  paper  and  a  pencil  are  all  that  are  necessary ; 
any  one  can  write  the  square;  there  is  not  any 
secret  as  to  it.  The  secret  is  the  key-word. 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  17 

Harleston  took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  the 
square: 


ABCDEPGHI JKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ 
BCDEFGH  I  J  KLMNOPQR  STUVWXYZA 
CDEFGHI  JKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZAB 
DEFGHI  J  KLMNO  PQRST  UVWXYZABC 
EFGHIJKLMNOPQ  RSTUVWXYZABCD 
FGHI  JKLMNOPQR  STUVWXY  ZABCDE 
GHI  JKLMNOPQRS  TUVWXYZABCDEF 
HIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFG 
I  JKLMNOP  QRS  T  UVWXYZAB  CDEFGH 
JKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFGHI 
KLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFGHIJ 
LMNOPQRS  TUVWXYZABCDEFGH  IJK 
MNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFGHI JKL 
NOPQRSTUVWXYZ  ABCDEFGHI  JKLM 
OPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFGHIJKLMN 
PQRSTUVWXYZ  A  B  CDEFGH  I  JKLMNO 
QRSTUVWXYZABC  DEFGHI  JKLMNOP 
RSTUVWXYZAB  CD  EFGH  I  JKLMNOPQ 
STUVWXYZABC  DE  FGH  I  JKLMNOPQR 
TUVWXYZABCDEF  GHI  JKLMNOPQRS 
UVWXYZABCDEFG  H  I  J  KLMNOPQRST 
VWXYZABCDEFGH  I  JKLMNOPQRSTU 
WXYZABCDEFGHI  JKLMNOPQRSTUV 
XYZABCDE  FGH  I  J  KLMN  OPQRSTUVW 
YZABCDEFGHI  JKLMNOPQRSTUVWX 
ZABCDEFGH  I  JKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY 


Assume  that  the  message  to  be  transmitted  is: 
"To-morrow  sure,"  and  that  the  key- word  is: 
"In  the  inn."  Write  the  key- word  and  under  it 
the  message: 


1 8       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

INTHEINNINTH 
TOM  O  RROWSU  RE 

Then  trace  downward  the  I  column  of  the  top  line 
of  the  square,  and  horizontally  the  T  column  at  the 
side  of  the  square  until  the  two  lines  coincide  in  the 
letter  B :  the  first  letter  of  the  cipher  message.  The 
N  and  the  o  yield  B;  the  T  and  the  M  yield  F; 
the  H  and  the  o  yield  v,  and  so  on,  until  the  com 
pleted  message  is: 

BBFVVZBJAHKL 

The  translator  of  the  cipher  message  sim 
ply  reverses  this  proceeding.  He  knows  the 
keyword,  and  he  writes  it  above  the  cipher 
message : 

INTHEINNINTH 
BBFVVZBJA  HK  L 

He  traces  the  I  column  until  B  is  reached;  the 
first  letter  in  that  line,  T,  is  the  first  letter  of  the 
message — and  so  on. 

Simple!  Yes,  childishly  simple  with  the  key 
word;  and  the  key- word  can  be  carried  in  one's 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  19 

mind.  Without  the  key-word,  translation  is 
impossible. 

Harleston  put  down  the  paper  and  leaned  back. 

Altogether  it  was  a  most  interesting  collection, 
these  four  articles  on  the  table.  It  was  a  pity 
that  the  cab  and  the  sleeping  horse  were  not  among 
the  exhibits.  Number  one:  a  lady's  lace  hand 
kerchief.  Number  two:  three  American  Beauty 
roses,  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear  and  violent 
usage.  Number  three :  a  cipher  message.  Num 
ber  four:  photograph  of  Madame — or  Mademoi 
selle — de  Cuthbert,  de  Spencer,  de  Lotzen.  There 
was  a  pretty  plot  behind  these  exhibits;  a  pretty 
plot,  or  he  missed  his  guess.  It  might  concern 
the  United  States — and  it  might  not.  It  would 
be  his  duty  to  find  out.  Meanwhile,  the  picture 
stirred  memories  that  he  had  thought  long  dead. 
Also  it  suggested  possibilities.  It  was  some  years 
since  they  had  matched  their  wits  against  each 
other,  and  the  last  time  she  rather  won  out — 
because  all  the  cards  were  hers,  as  well  as  the 
mise  en  scene.  And  she  had  left . 

His  thought  trailed  off  into  silence;  and  the 
silence  lasted  so  long,  and  he  sat  so  still,  that  the 
ash  fell  unnoticed  from  his  cigarette ;  and  presently 


2O       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  cigarette  burned  itself  into  the  tip,  and  to  his 
fingers. 

He  tossed  it  into  the  tray  and  laughed  quietly. 

Rare  days — those  days  of  the  vanished  protocol 
and  its  finding !  He  could  almost  wish  that  they 
might  be  again ;  with  a  different  mise  en  sc&ne,  and 
a  different  ending — and  a  different  client  for  his. 
He  was  becoming  almost  sentimental — and  he 
was  too  old  a  bird  for  sentiment,  and  quite  too 
old  at  this  game;  which  had  not  any  sentiment 
about  it  that  was  not  pretence  and  sham.  Yet  it 
was  a  good  game — a  mighty  entertaining  game; 
where  one  measured  wits  with  the  best,  and  took 
long  chances,  and  played  for  high  stakes:  men's 
lives  and  a  nation's  honour. 

He  picked  up  the  photograph  and  regarded  it 
thoughtfully. 

"And  what  are  to  be  the  stakes  now,  I  wonder," 
he  mused.  "It's  another  deal  of  the  same  old 
cards,  but  who  are  players?  If  America  is  one, 
then,  my  lady,  we  shall  see  who  will  win  this  time — 
if  you're  in  it;  and  I  take  it  you  are,  else  why  this 
picture.  Yet  to  induce  you  to  break  your  rule 
and  cross  the  Atlantic,  the  moving  consideration 
must  be  of  the  utmost  weight,  or  else  it's  purely 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  21 

a  personal  matter.  H-u-m!  Under  all  the  cir 
cumstances,  I  should  say  the  latter  is  the  more 
likely.  In  which  event,  I  may  not  be  concerned 
further  than  to  return  these — "  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  toward  the  exhibits. 

For  a  while  longer  he  sat  in  silence,  eyes  half 
closed,  lips  a  bit  compressed;  a  certain  sternness, 
that  was  always  in  his  countenance,  showing  plain 
est  when  in  reflective  thought.  At  last,  he  smiled. 
Then  he  lit  another  cigarette,  took  up  the  letter 
and  the  photograph,  and  put  them  in  the  small 
safe  standing  behind  an  ornate  screen  in  the  corner 
— not,  however,  without  another  look  at  the  calmly 
beautiful  face. 

The  roses  he  left  lie  on  the  table;  the  steel  safe 
would  not  preserve  them  in  statu  quo;  moreover, 
he  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  all  that  they  could 
convey.  He  swung  the  door  shut;  then  swung  it 
open,  and  looked  again  at  the  picture — and  for 
sometime — before  he  put  it  up  and  gave  the  knob 
a  twirl. 

"I'm  sure  bewitched!"  he  remarked,  going  on 
to  his  bedroom.  "It's  not  difficult  for  me  to 
understand  the  Duke  of  Lotzen.  -  He  was  simply 
a  man — and  men,  at  the  best,  are  queer  beggars. 


22       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

No  woman  ever  understands  us — and  no  more 
do  we  understand  women.  So  we're  both  quits 
on  that  score,  if  we're  not  quite  on  some  others." 
Then  he  raised  his  hands  helplessly.  "Oh,  Lord, 
the  petticoats,  the  petticoats!" 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang — noisily  as  befits 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"Who  the  devil  wants  me  at  such  an  hour?"  he 
muttered. 

The  clang  was  repeated  almost  instantly  and 
continued  until  he  unhooked  the  receiver. 

"Well!  "he  said  sharply. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Harleston?"  asked  a  woman's 
voice.  A  particularly  soft  and  sweet  and  smiling 
voice,  it  was. 

"I  am  Mr.  Harleston,"  he  replied  courteously — 
the  voice  had  done  it. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Harleston!"  the  voice 
rippled.  "I  suppose  you  are  rather  astonished 
at  being  called  up  at  such  an  unseemly  hour " 

"Not  at  all — I'm  quite  used  to  it,  mademoi 
selle,"  Harleston  assured  her. 

"Now  you're  sarcastic,"  the  voice  replied  again; 
"and,  somehow,  I  don't  like  sarcasm  when  I'm 
the  cause  of  it." 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  23 

"You're  the  cause  of  it  but  not  the  object  of  it," 
he  assured  her.  "I'm  quite  sure  I've  never  met 
you,  and  just  as  sure  that  I  hope  to  meet  you — 
today." 

"Your  hope,  Mr.  Harleston,  is  also  mine.  But 
why,  may  I  ask,  do  you  call  me  mademoiselle? 
I'm  not  French." 

"It's  the  pleasantest  way  to  address  you  until 
I  know  your  name." 

"You  might  call  me  madame!" 

"Perish  the  thought!  I  refuse  to  imagine  you 
married." 

"I  might  be  a  widow." 

"No." 

"Or  even  a  divorcee." 

"And  you  might  be  a  grandmother,"  he  added. 

"Yes." 

"And  doing  the  Maxixe  at  the  Willard,  this 
minute." 

"Yes!"  she  laughed. 

"But  you  aren't;  and  no  more  are  you  a  widow 
or  a  divorcee." 

"All  of  which  is  charming  of  you,  Mr.  Harles 
ton,  but  it's  not  exactly  the  business  I  have  in 
hand." 


24       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Business  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning!"  he 
exclaimed. 

He  had  tried  to  place  the  voice,  and  had  failed; 
he  was  becoming  convinced  that  he  had  not  heard 
it  before. 

"What  else  would  justify  me  in  disturbing  you?  " 
she  asked. 

"Yourself,  mademoiselle.  Let  us  continue  the 
pleasant  conversation  and  forget  business  until 
business  hours." 

"When  are  your  business  hours,  Mr.  Harleston 
— and  where's  your  office?" 

"I  have  no  office — and  my  business  hours  de 
pend  on  the  business  in  hand." 

"And  the  business  in  hand  depends  primarily 
on  whether  you  are  interested  in  the  subject 
matter  of  the  business,  n'est-ce  pas  ?" 
I  "I  am  profoundly  interested,  mademoiselle, 
in  any  matter  that  concerns  you — as  well  as  in 
yourself.  Who  would  not  be  interested  in  one 
so  impulsive — and  anything  so  important — as 
to  call  him  on  the  telephone  at  two  in  the 
morning." 

"And  who  on  his  part  is  so  gracious — and  wasn't 
asleep,"  she  answered. 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  25 

Harleston  slowly  winked  at  the  transmitter 
and  smiled. 

He  thought  so.  What  puzzled  him,  however, 
was  her  idea  in  prolonging  the  talk.  Maybe 
there  was  not  any  idea  in  it,  just  a  feminine  notion ; 
yet  something  in  the  very  alluring  softness  of  her 
voice  told  him  otherwise. 

"You  guessed  it,"  he  replied.  "I  was  not 
asleep.  Also  I  might  guess  something  in  regard 
to  your  business." 

"What?" 

"No,  no,  mademoiselle!  It's  impertinent  to 
guess  about  what  does  not  concern  me — yet." 

"Delete  the  word  'yet,'  Mr.  Harleston,  and 
substitute  the  idea  that  it  was — pardon  me — 
rather  gratuitous  in  you  to  meddle  in  the  first 
place." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Harleston. 

"Oh,  yes  you  do!"  she  trilled.  "However,  I'll 
be  specific — it's  time  to  be  specific,  you  would  say; 
though  I  might  respond  that  you've  known  all 
along  what  my  business  is  with  you." 

"The  name  of  an  individual  is  a  prerequisite 
to  the  transaction  of  business,"  he  interposed 

"You  do  not  know  me,  Mr.  Harleston." 


26       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Hence,  your  name?" 

"When  we  meet,  you'll  know  me  by  my  voice." 

"True,  mademoiselle,  for  it's  one  in  a  million; 
but  as  yet  we  are  not  met,  and  you  desire  to  talk 
business." 

"And  I'm  going  to  talk  business!"  she  laughed. 
"And  I  shall  not  give  you  my  name — or,  if 
you  must,  know  me  as  Madame  X.  Are  you 
satisfied?" 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  be  known  as  Madame  X," 
he  laughed  back,  "I  haven't  a  word  to  say.  Pray 
begin." 

"Being  assured  now  that  you  have  never  before 
heard  my  voice,  and  that  you  have  it  fixed  suffi 
ciently  in  your  memory — all  of  which,  Mr.  Har- 
leston,  wasn't  in  the  least  necessary,  for  we  shall 
meet  today — we  will  proceed.  Ready?" 

"Ready,  mademoiselle — I  mean  Madame  X." 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do,  sir,  in  regard  to  the 
incident  of  the  deserted  cab  with  the  sleeping 
horse?"  she  asked. 

"I  have  not  determined.  It  depends  on  devel 
opments." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Harleston,  you  were  not  in  the 
least  surprised  at  my  question." 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  27 

"For  a  moment,  a  mere  man  may  have  had  a 
clever  woman's  intuition,"  he  replied. 

"And,  I  suppose,  the  woman  will  be  expected 
to  aid  developments." 

"Isn't  that  her  present  intention?" 

"Not  at  all!  Her  present  intention  is  to 
avoid  developments  so  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
and  to  have  matters  take  their  intended  course. 
It's  to  that  end  that  I  have  ventured  to  call 
you." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Madame  X?" 

"As  if  you  did  not  know!"  she  mocked. 

"I'm  very  dense  at  times,"  he  assured  her. 

"Dense!"  she  laughed.  "Shades  of  Talley 
rand,  hear  the  man!  However,  as  you  desire  to 
be  told,  I'll  tell  you.  I  wish  you  to  forget  that 
you  saw  anything  unusual  on  your  way  home  this 
morning,  and  to  return  the  articles  you  took  from 
the  cab." 

"To  the  cab?"  Harleston  inquired. 

"No,  tome." 

"What  were  the  articles?" 

"A  sealed  envelope  containing  a  message  in 
cipher." 

"  Haven't  you  forgotten  something?  " 


28       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Oh,  you  may  keep  the  roses,  Mr.  Harleston, 
for  your  reward!"  she  laughed. 

She  had  not  missed  the  handkerchief,  or  else 
she  thought  it  of  no  consequence. 

"Assuming,  for  the  moment,  that  I  have  the 
articles  in  question,  how  are  they  to  be  gotten 
to  you?" 

"By  the  messenger,  I  shall  send." 

"Will  you  send  yourself?" 

"What  is  that  to  you,  sir?"  she  trilled. 

"Simply  that  I  shall  not  even  consider  surren 
dering  the  articles,  assuming  that  I  have  them,  to 
any  one  but  you." 

"You  will  surrender  them  to  me?"  she  whis 
pered. 

"I  won't  surrender  them  to  any  one  else." 

"In  other  words,  I  have  a  chance  to  get  them. 
No  one  else  has  a  chance?" 

"Precisely." 

"Very  well,  I  accept.  Make  the  appointment, 
Mr.  Harleston." 

"Will  five  o'clock  this  afternoon  be  convenient  ?  " 

"Perfectly — if  it  can't  be  sooner,"  she  replied, 
after  a  momentary  pause.  "And  the  place?" 

"Where  you   will,"  he  answered.     He  wanted 


The  Voice  on  the  Wire  29 

her  to  fix  it  so  that  he  could  judge  of  her  good 
faith. 

And  she  understood. 

"I'm  not  arranging  to  have  you  throttled!"  she 
laughed.  "Let  us  say  the  corridor  of  the  Chateau 
— that  is  safe  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"Don't  you  know,  Madame  X,  that  Peacock 
Alley  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  places  in  town?" 

"Not  for  you,  Mr.  Harleston,"  she  replied. 
"However " 

" Oh,  I'll  chance  it;  though  it's  a  perilous  setting 
with  one  of  your  adorable  voice — and  the  other 
things  that  simply  must  go  with  it." 

"And  lest  the  other  things  should  not  go  with 
it,"  she  added,  "I'll  wear  three  American  Beauties 
on  a  black  gown  so  that  you  may  know  me." 

" Good!  Peacock  Alley  at  five,"  he  replied  and 
snapped  up  the  receiver. 


Ill 

VISITORS 

"THE  affair  promises  to  be  quite  interesting," 
he  confided  to  the  paper-knife,  with  which  he  was 
spearing  tiny  holes  in  the  blotter  of  the  pad. 
"Peacock  Alley  at  five — but  there  are  a  few  matters 
that  come  first." 

He  went  straight  to  the  safe,  unlocked  it,  took 
out  the  photograph,  the  cipher  message,  and  the 
handkerchief,  carried  these  to  the  table  and  placed 
them  in  a  large  envelope,  which  he  sealed  and  ad 
dressed  to  himself.  Then  with  it,  and  the  three 
American  Beauties,  he  passed  quickly  into  the 
corridor  and  to  an  adjoining  apartment.  There 
he  rang  the  bell  vigorously  and  long. 

He  was  still  ringing  when  a  dishevelled  figure, 
in  blue  pajamas  and  a  scowl,  opened  the  door. 

"What  the  devil  do  you — "  the  disturbed  one 
growled. 

30 


Visitors  31 

"S-h-h!"  said  Harleston,  his  finger  on  his  lips. 
"Keep  these  for  me  until  tomorrow,  Stuart." 

And  crowding  the  roses  and  the  envelope  in  the 
astonished  man's  hands,  he  hurried  away. 

The  pajamaed  one  glared  at  the  flowers  and  the 
envelope;  then  he  turned  and  flung  them  into  a 
corner  of  the  living-room. 

"Hell ! "  he  said  in  disgust.  " Harleston's  either 
crazy  or  in  love:  it's  the  same  thing  anyway." 

He  slammed  the  door  and  went  back  to  bed. 

Harleston,  chuckling,  returned  to  his  quarters; 
retrieved  from  the  floor  a  leaf  and  a  petal  and 
tossed  them  out  of  the  window.  Then,  being 
assured  by  a  careful  inspection  of  the  room  that 
there  were  no  further  traces  of  the  roses  remaining, 
he  went  to  bed. 

Two  minutes  after  his  head  touched  the  pillow, 
he  was  asleep. 

Presently  he  awoke — listening! 

Some  one  was  on  the  fire-escape.  The  passage 
leading  to  it  was  just  at  the  end  of  his  suite ;  more 
than  that,  one  could  climb  over  the  railing,  and, 
by  a  little  care,  reach  the  sill  of  his  bedroom  win 
dow.  This  sill  was  wide  and  offered  an  easy 
footing.  If  the  window  were  up,  one  could  easily 


32       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

step  inside ;  or,  even  if  it  were  not,  the  catch  could 
be  slipped  in  a  moment. 

Harleston's  window,  however,  was  up — invit 
ingly  up ;  also  the  window  on  the  passage ;  it  was  a 
warm  night  and  any  air  was  grateful. 

He  lay  quite  still  and  waited  developments. 
They  came  from  another  quarter:  the  corridor  on 
which  his  apartment  opened.  Someone  was  there. 

Then  the  knob  of  his  door  turned ;  he  could  not 
distinguish  it  in  the  uncertain  light,  yet  he  knew 
it  was  turning  by  a  peculiarly  faint  screech — 
almost  so  faint  as  to  be  indistinguishable.  One 
would  not  notice  it  except  at  the  dead  of  night. 

The  door  hung  a  moment;  then  cautiously  it 
swung  back  a  little  way,  and  two  men  entered. 
The  moon,  though  now  low,  was  sufficient  to  light 
the  place  faintly  and  to  enable  them  to  see  and  be 
seen. 

For  a  brief  interval  they  stood  motionless. 
They  came  to  life  when  Harleston,  reaching  up, 
pushed  the  electric  button. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  gentlemen?"  he  asked, 
blinking  into  their  levelled  revolvers. 

They  were  medium-sized  men  and  wore  evening 
clothes;  one  was  about  forty-five  and  rather  in- 


Visitors  33 

clined  to  stoutness,  the  other  was  under  forty  and 
rather  slender.  They  were  not  masked,  and  their 
faces,  which  were  strange  to  Harleston,  were  the 
faces  of  men  of  breeding,  accustomed  to  affairs. 

"You  startled  us,  Mr.  Harleston,"  the  elder 
replied;  "and  you  blinded  us  momentarily  by  the 
rush  of  light." 

"It  was  thoughtless  of  me,"  Harleston  returned. 
He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  chairs.  "Won't 
you  be  seated,  messieurs — and  pardon  my  not 
arising;  I'm  hardly  in  receiving  costume.  May 
I  ask  whom  I  am  entertaining." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  the  elder  smiled.  "This  is 
Mr.  Sparrow;  I  am  Mr.  Marston.  We  would 
not  have  you  put  yourself  to  the  inconvenience, 
not  to  mention  the  hazard  from  drafts.  You're 
much  more  comfortable  in  bed — and  we  can  trans 
act  our  business  with  you  quite  as  well  so;  more 
over,  if  you  will  give  us  your  word  to  lie  quiet 
and  not  call  or  shoot,  we  shall  not  offer  you  the 
slightest  violence . ' ' 

"I'll  do  anything,"  Harleston  smiled,  "to  be  re 
lieved  of  looking  down  those  unattractive  muzzles. 
Ah!  thank  you! — The  chairs,  gentlemen!"  with 
a  fine  gesture  of  welcome. 

3    . 


34       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"We  haven't  time  to  sit  down,  thank  you," 
said  Sparrow.  "Time  presses  and  we  must  away 
as  quickly  as  possible.  We  shall,  we  sincerely 
hope,  inconvenience  you  but  a  moment,  Mr. 
Harleston." 

,  "Pray  take  all  the  time  you  need,"  Harleston 
responded.  "  I've  nothing  to  do  until  nine  o'clock 
— except  to  sleep ;  and  sleep  is  a  mere  incidental  to 
me.  I  would  much  rather  chat  with  visitors,  espe 
cially  those  who  pay  me  such  a  delightfully  early 
morning  call." 

"Do  you  know  what  we  came  for?"  Marston 
asked. 

iv  "I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  In  fact,  I  don't 
seem  to  recall  ever  having  met  either  of  you. 
However — you'll  find  cigars  and  cigarettes  on  the 
table  in  the  other  room.  I'll  be  greatly  obliged, 
if  one  of  you  will  pass  me  a  cigarette  and  a  match." 

Both  men  laughed;  Sparrow  produced  his  case 
and  offered  it  to  Harleston,  together  with  a  match. 

"Thank  you,  very  much,"  said  Harleston,  as 
he  struck  the  match  and  carefully  passed  the  flame 
across  the  tip.  "Now,  sirs,  I'm  at  your  service. 
To  what,  or  to  whom,  do  I  owe  the  honour  of  this 
visit?" 


Visitors  35 

"We  have  ventured  to  intrude  on  you,  Mr. 
Harleston,"  said  Marston,  "in  regard  to  a  little 
matter  that  happened  on  Eighteenth  Street  near 
Massachusetts  Avenue  shortly  before  one  o'clock 
this  morning." 

Harleston  looked  his  surprise. 

"Yes ! "  he  inflected.     "How  very  interesting." 

"I'm  delighted  that  you  find  it  so,"  was  the 
answer.  "It  encourages  me  to  go  deeper  into 
that  matter." 

"By  all  means!"  said  Harleston,  pushing  the 
pillow  aside  and  sitting  up.  "Pray,  proceed. 
I'm  all  attention." 

"Then  we'll  go  straight  to  the  point.  You 
found  certain  articles  in  the  cab,  Mr.  Harleston 
— we  have  come  for  those  articles." 

"I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  understand,"  Harleston 
replied.  "Cab — articles!  Have  they  to  do  with 
your  little  matter  of  Eighteenth  and  Massachu 
setts  Avenue  several  hours  ago?" 

"They  are  the  crux  of  the  matter,"  Marston 
said  shortly.  "And  you  will  confer  a  great  favour 
upon  persons  high  in  authority  of  a  friendly  power 
if  you  will  return  the  articles  in  question." 

"My  dear  sir,"  Harleston  exclaimed,  "I  haven't 


36       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  articles,  whatever  they  may  be;  and  pardon 
me,  even  if  I  had,  I  should  not  deliver  them  to  you ; 
I've  never,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  seen 
either  of  you  gentlemen  before  this  pleasant 
occasion." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Harleston,"  remarked  Sparrow, 
"all  your  actions  at  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse 
were  observed  and  noted,  so  why  protest?" 

"I'm  not  protesting;  I'm  simply  stating  two 
pertinent  facts!"  Harleston  laughed. 

"We  will  grant  the  fact  that  you've  never  seen 
us,"  said  Marston,  "but  that  you  have  not  got 
the  articles  in  question,  we,"  with  apologizing 
gesture,  "beg  leave  to  doubt." 

"You're  at  full  liberty  to  search  my  apart 
ment,"  Harleston  answered.  "I'm  not  sensi 
tive  early  in  the  morning,  whatever  I  may  be  at 
night." 

"The  letter  is  easy  to  conceal,"  was  the  reply, 
"and  the  safe  yonder  is  an  impasse  without  your 
assistance." 

"The  safe  is  not  locked,"  Harleston  remarked. 
"I  think  I  neglected  to  turn  the  knob.  If  you 
will " 

"Don't  disturb  yourself,  I  pray,"  was  the  quick 


Visitors  37 

reply,  the  revolver  glinting  in  his  hand;  "we  will 
gladly  relieve  you  of  the  trouble." 

"  I  was  only  about  to  say  that  if  you  try  the  door 
it  will  open  for  you,"  Harleston  chuckled.  "Go 
through  it,  sir,"  he  remarked  to  the  younger, "and 
don't,  I  beg  of  you,  disturb  the  papers  more  than 
necessary.  The  key  to  the  locked  drawer  is  in 
the  lower  compartment  on  the  right.  Proceed, 
my  elderly  friend,  to  search  the  apartment;  I'll 
not  balk  you.  The  thing's  rather  amusing — and 
entirely  absurd.  If  it  were  not — if  it  didn't  strike 
my  funny-bone — I  should  probably  put  up  some 
sort  of  a  fight;  as  it  is,  you  see  I'm  entirely  ac 
quiescent.  Your  tiny  automatics  didn't  in  the 
least  intimidate  me.  I  could  have  landed  you 
both  as  you  entered.  I've  got  a  gun  of  a  much 
larger  calibre  right  to  my  hand.  See!"  and  he 
lifted  the  pillow  and  exposed  a  38.  "Want  to 
borrow  it?" 

"Why  didn't  you  land  us?"  Marston  asked,  as 
he  took  the  38. 

"It  wouldn't  have  been  kind!"  Harleston 
smiled.  "When  visitors  come  at  such  an  hour, 
they  deserve  to  be  received  with  every  at 
tention  and  courtesy — particularly  when  they 


38       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

come  on  a  mistaken  impression  and  a  fruitless 
quest." 

The  man  looked  at  Harleston  doubtfully.  Just 
how  much  of  this  was  bluff,  he  could  not  decide. 
Harleston 's  whole  conduct  was  rather  unusual — 
the  open  door,  the  open  safe,  the  unemployed 
revolver,  were  not  in  accordance  with  the  game 
they  were  playing.  He  should  have  made  a 
fight,  some  sort  of  a  fight,  and  not 

"The  letter's  not  in  the  safe,"  Sparrow  reported. 

"I  didn't  think  it  was,"  said  the  other,  "but 
we  had  to  make  search." 

"You're  very  welcome  to  look  elsewhere  and 
anywhere,"  Harleston  interjected.  "I'll  trust 
you  not  to  pry  into  matters  other  than  the  letter. 
By  the  way,  whose  was  the  letter?" 

"His  Majesty  of  Abyssinia!"  was  the  an 
swer. 

"Taken  by  wireless,  I  presume/' 

"Exactly!" 

"Then,  why  so  much  bother,  my  friend?" 
Harleston  asked.  "If  you  do  not  find  it,  you  can 
get  others  by  the  same  quick  route." 

"The  King  of  Abyssinia  never  duplicates  a 
letter." 


Visitors  39 

"When,"  supplemented  Harleston,  "it  has  been 
carelessly  lost  in  a  cab." 

"Just  so.     Therefore " 

"I  repeat  that  I  have  not  got  the  articles,"  said 
Harleston,  a  bit  wearily,  "nor  are  they  in  my 
apartment.  You  have  been  misinformed.  I  find 
I  am  getting  drowsy — this  thing  is  not  as  absorbing 
as  I  had  thought  it  would  be.  With  your  per 
mission,  I'll  drop  off  to  sleep;  you're  welcome  to 
continue  the  search.  Make  yourselves  perfectly 
at  home,  sirs."  He  lay  back  and  drew  up  the 
sheet.  "Just  pull  the  door  shut  when  you  depart, 
please,"  he  said,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"You're  a  queer  chap,"  remarked  Sparrow, 
pausing  in  his  search  and  surveying  Harleston 
with  a  puzzled  smile.  "One  would  suppose  you're 
used  to  receiving  interruptions  at  such  hours  for 
such  purposes." 

"I  try  never  to  be  surprised  at  anything  how 
ever  outre"  Harleston  explained.  "Good-night." 

The  two  men  looked  at  the  recumbent  figure  and 
then  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

" He  acts  the  part,"  said  the  elder.  "Have  you 
found  anything?" 

"Nothing!     It's  not  in  the  safe  nor  the  writing- 


4O       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

table — nor  anywhere  else  that  is  reasonable.  I've 
been  through  everything  and  there's  nothing 
doing." 

"You're  not  going?"  Harleston  remarked. 

"You're  asleep,  Mr.  Harleston!"  Marston  re 
minded.  "The  letter  is  here:  we've  simply  got 
to  find  it." 

' '  A  letter  is  easy  to  conceal, ' '  the  younger  replied. 
"There's  nothing  but  to  overturn  everything  in 
the  place — and  soon;  and  that  will  require  a  day." 

"So  that  you  replace  things,  I've  not  the  slight 
est  objection,"  Harleston  interjected.  "Bang 
away,  sirs,  bang  away!  Anything  to  relieve  me 
from  suspicion." 

"It  prevents  him  from  sleeping!"  Sparrow 
laughed. 

"Also  yourselves,"  Harleston  supplemented. 
"However,  you  for  it,  remembering  that  cock 
crow  comes  earlier  now  than  in  December,  and 
the  people  too  are  up  betimes.  You  risk  inter 
ruption,  I  fear,  from  my  solicitous  friends." 

And  even  as  he  spoke  the  corridor  door  opened 
and  a  man  stepped  in. 

From  where  he  lay,  Harleston  could  see  him; 
the  others  could  not. 


Visitors  41 

"'Pon  my  soul,  I'm  popular  this  morning!" 
Harleston  remarked,  sitting  up. 

Instantly  the  new-comer  covered  him  with  his 
revolver. 

"What  did  you  say?"  Sparrow  inquired  from 
the  sitting-room,  just  as  the  stranger  appeared 
around  the  corner. 

Like  a  flash,  the  latter's  revolver  shifted  to  him. 

"Easy  there!"  said  he. 

Sparrow  sprang  up — then  he  laughed. 

"Easy  yourself!"  said  he.  "Marston,  let  this 
gentleman  see  your  hand." 

Marston  came  slowly  forward  until  he  stood  a 
little  behind  but  sufficiently  in  view  to  enable  the 
stranger  to  see  that  he  himself  was  covered  by  an 
automatic. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Crenshaw, "  said  Sparrow, 
"don't  let  us  get  to  shooting  here!  If  you  wing 
me,  Marston  will  wing  you,  and  we'll  only  stir 
up  a  mess  for  ourselves." 

"Then  hand  over  the  letter,"  said  Cren 
shaw. 

"Do  you  fancy  we  would  be  hunting  it  if  we 
had  it?" 

"I  don't  fancy — produce  the  goods!" 


42       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"We  haven't  the  goods,"  Marston  shrugged. 
"We  can't  find  it." 

Sparrow  shook  his  head  curtly. 

"  It's  the  truth,"  Harleston  interjected.  " They 
haven't  found  the  goods  for  the  very  good  reason 
that  the  goods  are  not  here.  Plunge  in  and  aid 
in  the  search ;  I  wish  you  would ;  it  will  relieve  me 
of  your  triple  intrusion  in  one  third  less  time.  I'm 
becoming  very  tired  of  it  all ;  it  has  lost  its  novelty. 
I  prefer  to  sleep." 

"I  want  the  letter!"  Crenshaw  exclaimed. 

"I  assumed  as  much  from  the  vigour  of  your 
quest,"  Harleston  shrugged.  "The  difficulty  is 
that  I  haven't  the  letter.  Neither  is  it  in  my 
apartment.  But  you'll  facilitate  the  search  if 
you'll  depress  your  respective  cannon  from  the 
angle  of  each  other's  anatomy  and  get  to  work. 
As  I  remarked  before,  I'm  anxious  to  compose 
myself  for  sleep.  You  can  hold  your  little  dispute 
later  on  the  sidewalk,  or  in  jail,  or  wherever  is 
most  convenient." 

"Mr.  Harleston,"  said  Marston,  "do  you  give  us 
your  word  that  the  letter  is  not  in  your  apartment?  " 

"You  already  have  it,"  Harleston  replied 
wearily. 


Visitors  43 

"Then,  sir,  we'll  take  your  word  and  withdraw." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Harleston. 

"He  has  it  somewhere!"  Crenshaw  declared, 
fingering  his  revolver. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Marston  returned,  "we  are 
willing  to  accept  Mr.  Harleston's  averment."  . 

"He  knows  where  it  is — he  took  it — let  him 
tell  where  it  is  hidden." 

"What  good  will  that  subserve?  We  can't 
get  it  tonight,  and  tomorrow  will  be  too  late." 

"And  all  because  of  you  two  meddlers." 

"  Three  meddlers,  Crenshaw!"  Marston  laughed. 
"You  must  not  forget  your  sweet  self.  We've 
bungled  the  affair,  I  admit.  We  can't  improve 
it  now  by  murdering  each  other " 

"We  can  make  it  very  uncomfortable  for  the 
fourth  meddler,"  Crenshaw  threatened,  eyeing 
the  figure  on  the  bed. 

"Haven't  you  made  me  uncomfortable  enough 
by  this  untimely  intrusion?"  Harleston  muttered 
sleepily. 

"What  is  your  idea  in  not  offering  any  opposi 
tion?"  Crenshaw  demanded.  "Is  it  a  plant?" 

"  It  was  courtesy  at  first,  and  the  novelty  of  the 
experience;  but  it's  ceased  to  be  novel,  and  cour- 


44       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

tesy  is  a  bit  supererogatory.  By  the  way,  which 
of  you  came  up  the  fire-escape?" 

The  three  shook  their  heads. 

"I'm  not  a  burglar,"  Crenshaw  snapped. 

"The  burden  is  on  you  to  prove  it,  my  friend!" 
Harleston  smiled.  "However,  it's  no  matter. 
Just  drop  cards  before  you  leave  so  that  I  can 
return  your  call.  Once  more,  good-night!" 

"I'm  off,"  said  Marston.  "Come  along,  Cren 
shaw,  you  can't  do  anything  more  here,  and  we'll 
all  forget  and  forgive  and  start  fresh  in  the  morn 
ing." 

"Start?"  cried  Crenshaw;  "what  for — home? 
I  tell  you  the  letter  is  here — he  took  it,  didn't  he? 
He  was  at  the  cab." 

"Will  you  also  give  your  word  that  you  didn't 
take  a  letter  from  the  cab?"  Crenshaw  demanded, 
turning  upon  Harleston. 

"I'll  give  you  nothing  since  you've  asked  me 
in  that  manner,"  Harleston  replied  sharply;  "un 
less  you  want  this."  His  hand  came  from  under 
the  sheet,  and  Crenshaw  was  looking  into  a  levelled 
38.  Harleston  had  a  pair  of  them. 

"Beat  it,  my  man ! "  Harleston  snapped.  "  None 
of  you  are  of  much  success  as  burglars;  you're 


Visitors  45 

not  familiar  with  the  trade.  You're  novices, 
rank  novices.  Also  myself.  I'll  give  you  until 
I  count  five,  Crenshaw,  to  make  your  adieux. 
One  .  .  .  two  .  .  .  No  'need  for  you  two  to 
hurry  away — the  time  limit  applies  only  to  Mr. 
Crenshaw." 

"It's  quite  time  we  were  going,  Mr.  Harleston," 
Marston  answered.  "Good-night,  sir — and  pleas 
ant  dreams.  Come  on,  Crenshaw." 

"Three  .  .  .  four  ..." 

Crenshaw  made  a  gesture  of  final  threat. 

"Meddler!"  he  exclaimed.  Then  he  followed 
the  other  two. 


IV 

CRENSHAW 

HARLESTON  lay  for  a  few  minutes,  brows  drawn 
in  thought ;  then  he  arose,  crossed  to  the  telephone, 
and  took  down  the  receiver. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Williams,"  he  said.  "Has 
it  been  a  long  night?" 

"Pretty  long,  Mr.  Harleston,"  the  girl  answered. 
"There  hasn't  been  a  thing  doing  for  two  hours." 

"Haven't  three  gentlemen  just  left  the  build 
ing?" 

"No  one  has  passed  in  or  out  since  you  came 
in,  Mr.  Harleston." 

"Then  I  must  be  mistaken." 

"You  certainly  are.  It's  so  lonely  down  here, 
Mr.  Harleston,  you  can  pick  up  chunks  of  it  and 
carry  off." 

"Been  asleep?" 

"I  don't  think!"  she  laughed.  "I'm  not 
minded  to  lose  my  job.  Suppose  some  peevish 

46 


Crenshaw  47 

woman  wanted  a  doctor  and  she  couldn't  raise 
me ;  do  you  think  I'd  last  longer  than  the  morning 
and  the  manager's  arrival?  Nay!  Nay!" 

"It's  an  unsympathetic  world,  isn't  it,  Miss 
Williams?" 

"Only  when  you're  down — otherwise  it's  not 
half  bad.  Say,  maybe  here's  one  of  your  men 
now;  he's  walking  down.  Shall  I  stop  him?" 

"No,  no,  let  him  go.  When  he's  gone,  tell  me 
if  he's  slender,  or  stout,  or  has  a  moustache  and 
imperial." 

"Sure,  I  will." 

Through  the  telephone  Harleston  could  hear 
someone  descend  the  stairs,  cross  the  lobby,  and 
the  revolving  doors  swing  around. 

The  next  moment,  the  operator's  voice  came 
with  a  bit  of  laugh. 

"Are  you  there,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"I'm  here." 

"Well,  your  man  was  a  woman — and  she  was 
accidentally  deliberately  careful  that  I  shouldn't 
see  her  face." 

"H-u-m!"  said  Harleston.     "Young  or  old?" 

"She's  got  ripples  enough  on  her  gown  to  be 
sixty,  and  figure  enough  to  be  twenty." 


48       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Slender?" 

"Yes;  a  perfect  peach!" 

"How's  her  walk?" 

"As  if  the  ground  was  all  hers." 

"  I  see ! "  Harleston  replied.  ' '  What  would  you, 
as  a  woman,  make  her  age — being  indifferent  and 
strictly  truthful?" 

"Not  over  twenty-eight — probably  less!"  she 
laughed.  "And  I've  a  notion  she's  some  to  look 
at,  Mr.  Harleston." 

"You  mean  she's  a  beauty?" 

"Sure." 

"Call  me  if  she  comes  back;  also  if  any  of  the 
men  go  out.  They  are  strangers  to  the  Colling- 
wood,  so  you  will  know  them." 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Harleston." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  back  to 
bed. 

If  no  one  had  come  in  and  no  one  had  left  the 
Collingwood  since  his  return,  the  men  must  have 
been  in  the  building — unless  they  had  come  by 
another  way  than  the  main  entrance;  which  was 
the  only  entrance  open  after  midnight.  If  the 
former  was  the  case,  then  someone  on  the  outside 
must  have  communicated  to  them  as  to  him. 


Crenshaw  49 

With  a  muttered  curse  on  his  stupidity,  he 
returned  to  the  telephone. 

"Miss  Williams,"  said  he,  "there  has  been  a 
queer  occurrence  in  the  building  since  two  A.M., 
and  I  should  like  to  know  confidentially  whether 
any  one  has  communicated  with  an  apartment 
since  one  thirty." 

The  girl  knew  that  Harleston  was  on  intimate 
terms  with  the  State  Department,  and  with  the 
police,  and  she  answered  at  once. 

"Save  only  yours,  not  a  single  in  or  out  call 
has  been  registered  since  twelve  fifty-two  when 
apartment  No.  401  was  connected  for  a  short 
while." 

"Who  has  No.  401?" 

"A  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chartrand.  It's  one  of  the 
transient  apartments;  and  they  have  occupied  it 
only  a  few  days." 

"You  didn't  by  any  chance  overhear " 

"The  conversation?"  she  laughed.  "Sure,  I 
heard  it;  anything  to  put  in  the  time  during  the 
night.  It  was  very  brief,  however;  something 
about  him  being  here,  and  to  meet  him  at  ten  in 
the  morning." 

"Who  were  talking?" 

4 


50       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Mrs.  Chartrand  and  a  man — at  least  I  took  it 
to  be  Mrs.  Chartrand;  it  was  a  woman's  voice." 

"Did  they  mention  where  they  were  to  meet,  or 
the  name  of  the  man?" 

"No.  The  very  vagueness  of  the  talk  made 
its  impression  on  me  at  that  time  of  night.  In 
the  daytime,  I  would  not  have  even  listened." 

"I  understand,"  said  Harleston.  "Call  me 
up,  will  you,  if  there  are  any  developments  as 
to  the  men  I've  described — or  the  conversation. 
Meanwhile,  Miss  Williams',  not  a  word." 

"Not  a  word,  Mr.  Harleston — and  thank  you." 

"What  for?" 

"For  treating  me  as  a  human  being.  Most 
persons  treat  me  like  an  automaton  or  a  bit  of 
dirt.  You're  different;  most  of  the  men  are  not 
so  bad ;  it's  the  women,  Mr.  Harleston,  the  women ! 
Good-night,  sir.  I'll  call  you  if  anything  turns 
up." 

"All  of  which  shows,"  reflected  Harleston, 
as  he  returned  to  bed,  "that  the  telephone  peo 
ple  are  right  in  asking  you  to  smile  when  you  say 
'hello.'  " 

It  was  a  very  interesting  condition  of  affairs 
that  confronted  him. 


Crenshaw  51 

The  episode  of  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse  was 
leading  on  to — what? 

Three  men  in  the  Collingwood  knew  of  the 
occurrence,  yet  no  one  had  come  in  or  gone  out, 
and  no  one  had  telephoned.  Moreover,  they  also 
knew  of  Harleston's  part  in  the  matter.  The  girl 
had  not  lied,  he  was  sure ;  therefore  they  must  have 
gained  entrance  from  the  outside;  and,  possibly, 
were  now  hiding  in  the  Chartrand  apartment — if 
the  telephone  message  to  No.  401  had  to  do  with  the 
occupant  of  the  deserted  cab  and  the  lost  letter. 
Yet  how  to  connect  things?  And  why  bother  to 
connect  them? 

He  did  not  care  for  the  vanished  lady  of  the 
cab — he  had  the  letter  and  the  photograph;  and 
because  of  them  he  was  to  have  a  talk  with  an 
interesting  young  woman  at  five  o'clock  that 
afternoon.  The  cipher  letter,  which  was  the  much 
desired  quantity,  was  safely  across  the  hall,  waiting 
to  be  turned  over  to  Carpenter,  the  expert  of  the 
State  Department,  for  translation.  Meanwhile, 
what  concerned  Harleston  was  the  photograph  of 
Madeline  Spencer  and  her  connection  with  the 
case — and  to  know  if  the  United  States  was  con 
cerned  in  the  affair. 


52       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

At  this  point  he  turned  over  and  calmly  went 
to  sleep.  Tomorrow  was  another  day. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  vigorous  pounding  on  the 
corridor  door.  It  was  seven-thirty  o'clock.  He 
yawned  and  responded  to  the  summons — which 
grew  more  insistent  with  every  pound. 

It  was  Stuart — the  envelope  and  the  flowers  in 
his  hand. 

"Scarcely  heard  your  gentle  tap,"  Harleston 
remarked.  "Why  don't  you  knock  like  a 
man?" 

"Here's  your  damn  bouquet,  also  your  en 
velope,"  said  Stuart.  "You  probably  don't 
recall  that  you  left  them  with  me  about  two 
this  morning.  I  do" 

"  I'm  mighty  much  obliged,  old  man,"  Harleston 
responded.  "You  did  me  a  great  service  by 
taking  them — I'll  tell  you  about  it  later." 

"Hump!"  grunted  Stuart.  "I  hope  you'll 
come  around  to  tell  me  at  a  more  seasonable  hour. 
So  long!" 

Harleston  closed  the  door,  and  was  half-way 
across  the  living-room  when  there  came  another 
knock. 

Tossing  the  envelope  and  the  faded  roses  on  a 


Crenshaw  53 

nearby  table,  he  stepped  back  and  swung  open 
the  door. 

Instantly,  a  revolver  was  shoved  into  his  face, 
and  Crenshaw  sprang  into  the  hall  and  closed  the 
door. 

"I  thought  as  much!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll 
take  that  envelope,  my  friend,  and  be  quick 
about  it."  % 

"What  envelope?"  Harleston  inquired  pleas 
antly,  never  seeming  to  notice  the  menacing 
automatic. 

"  Come,  no  trifling ! "  Crenshaw  snapped.  ''  The 
envelope  that  the  man  from  the  apartment  across 
the  corridor  just  handed  you." 

Harleston  laughed.  "You  are  obsessed  with 
the  notion  that  I  have  something  of  yours,  Mr. 
Crenshaw." 

"  The  letter!"  exclaimed  Crenshaw. 

"That  envelope  is  addressed  to  me,  sir;  it's  not 
the  one  you  seem  to  want." 

"I  suppose  the  flowers  are  also  addressed  to 
you,"  Crenshaw  derided,  advancing.  "Get  back, 
sir, — I'll  get  the  envelope  myself." 

"My  dear  man,"  Harleston  expostulated,  re 
treating  slowly  toward  the  door  of  the  living-room, 


54       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'll  let  you  see  the  envelope;  I've  not  the  slightest 
objection.  Put  up  your  gun,  man;  I'm  not  dan 
gerous." 

"You're  not  so  long  as  I've  got  the  drop  on  you ! " 
Crenshaw  laughed  sneeringly.  "Get  back,  man, 
get  back;  to  the  far  side  of  the  table — the  far  side, 
do  you  hear — while  I  examine  the  envelope  yonder 
beside  the  roses.  The  roses  are  very  familiar, 
Mr.  Harleston.  I've  seen  them  before." 
[  Harleston,  retreating  hastily,  backed  into  a 
chair  and  fell  over  it. 

"All  right,  stay  there,  then!"  said  Crenshaw, 
and  reached  for  the  letter. 

As  he  did  so,  Harleston's  slippered  foot  shot 
out  and  drove  hard  into  the  other's  stomach. 
With  a  grunt  Crenshaw  doubled  up  from  pain. 
The  next  instant,  Harleston  caught  his  wrist  and 
the  struggle  was  on. 

It  was  not  for  long,  however.  Crenshaw  was 
outweighed  and  outstrengthed ;  and  Harleston 
quickly  bore  him  to  the  floor,  where  a  sharp  blow 
on  the  fingers  sent  the  automatic  flying. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  spoiling  the  devil's  handiwork, 
my  fine  friend,  I'd  smash  your  face,"  Harleston 
remarked. 


Crenshaw  55 

"Smash  it!"  the  other  panted.  "I'll  promise 
— to  smash  yours — at  the  first  opportunity." 

"Which  latter  smashing  won't  be  until  some 
years  later,"  Harleston  retorted,  as  he  turned 
Crenshaw  over.  Bearing  on  him  with  all  his  weight, 
he  loosed  his  own  pajama-cord  and  tied  the  man's 
hands  behind  him.  Next  he  kicked  off  his  pajama 
trousers,  and  with  them  bound  Crenshaw's  ankles. 
Then  he  dragged  him  to  a  chair  and  plunked  him 
into  it,  securing  him  there  by  a  strap. 

"It's  scarcely  necessary  to  gag  you,"  he  re 
marked  pleasantly.  "In  your  case,  an  outcry 
would  be  embarrassing  only  to  yourself." 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  me?  "  Crenshaw 
demanded. 

"Ultimately,  you  mean.  I  have  not  decided. 
It  may  depend  on  what  I  find."  , 

"Find?" 

Harleston  nodded.     "  In  your  pockets." 

"You  dog!"  Crenshaw  burst  out,  straining  at 
his  bonds.  "You  miserable  whelp!  What  do 
you  think  to  find?" 

"I'm  not  thinking,"  Harleston  smiled;  "it 
isn't  necessary  to  speculate  when  one  has  all  the 
stock,  you  know."  Then  his  face  hardened. 


56       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"One  who  comes  into  another's  residence  in  the 
dead  of  night,  revolver  in  hand  and  violence  in 
his  intention,  can  expect  no  mercy  and  should 
receive  none.  You're  an  ordinary  burglar,  Cren- 
shaw;  and  as  such  the  law  will  view  you  if  I  turn 
you  over  to  the  police.  You  think  I  found  a 
letter  in  an  abandoned  cab  at  i8th  and  Massachu 
setts  Avenue  early  this  morning,  and  instead  of 
coming  like  a  respectable  man  and  asking  if  I 
have  it  and  proving  your  property — do  you  hear, 
proving  your  property — you  play  the  burglar  and 
highwayman.  Evidently  the  letter  isn't  yours, 
and  you  haven't  any  right  or  claim  to  it.  I  have 
been  injected  into  this  matter;  and  having  been 
injected  I  intend  to  ascertain  what  can  be  found 
from  your  papers.  Who  you  are;  what  your 
object;  who  are  concerned  beside  yourself;  and 
anything  else  I  can  discover.  You  see,  you  have 
the  advantage  of  me;  you  know  who  I  am,  and, 
I  presume,  my  business;  I  know  nothing  of  you, 
nor  of  your  business,  nor  what  this  all  means; 
though  I  might  guess  some  things.  It's  to  obviate 
guessing,  as  far  as  possible,  that  I  am  about  to 
examine  such  evidence  as  you  may  have  with 
you." 


Crenshaw  57 

Crenshaw  was  so  choked  with  his  anger  that  for 
a  moment  he  merely  sputtered — then  he  relapsed 
into  furious  silence,  his  dark  eyes  glowing  with 
such  hate  that  Harleston  paused  and  asked  a  bit 
curiously : 

"Why  do  you  take  it  so  hard?  It's  all  in  the 
game — and  you've  lost.  You're  a  poor  sort  of 
sport,  Crenshaw.  You'd  be  better  at  ping-pong 
or  croquet.  This  matter  of — letters,  and  cabs,  is 
far  beyond  your  calibre;  it's  not  in  your  class." 

"We  haven't  reached  the  end  of  the  matter, 
my  adroit  friend,"  gritted  Crenshaw.  "My  turn 
will  come,  never  fear." 

"A  far  day,  monsieur,  a  far  day ! "  said  Harleston 
lightly.  "Meanwhile,  with  your  permission,  we 
will  have  a  look  at  the  contents  of  your  pockets. 
First,  your  pocketbook." 

He  unbuttoned  the  other's  coat,  put  in  his  hand, 
and  drew  out  the  book. 

"Attend,  please,"  said  he,  "so  you  can  see  that 
I  replace  every  article." 

Crenshaw's  only  answer  was  a  contemptuous 
shrug. 

A  goodly  wad  of  yellow  backs  of  large  denomina 
tions,  and  some  visiting  cards,  no  two  of  which 


58       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

bore  the  same  name,  were  the  contents  of  the 
pocketbook. 

"You  must  have  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping 
track  of  yourself,"  Harleston  remarked,  as  he 
made  a  note  of  the  names. 

Then  he  returned  the  bills  and  the  cards  to  the 
book,  and  put  it  back  in  Crenshaw's  pocket. 

"It's  unwise  to  carry  so  much  money  about 
you,"  he  remarked;  "it  induces  spending,  as  well 
as  provokes  attack." 

"What's  that  to  you?"  replied  Crenshaw 
angrily. 

"Nothing  whatever — it's  merely  a  word  of 
advice  to  one  who  seems  to  need  it.  Now  for  the 
other  pockets." 

The  coat  yielded  nothing  additional;  the  waist 
coat,  only  a  few  matches  and  an  open-faced  gold 
watch,  which  Harleston  inspected  rather  care 
fully  both  inside  and  out ;  the  trousers,  a  couple  of 
handkerchiefs  with  the  initial  C  in  the  corner,  some 
silver,  and  a  small  bunch  of  keys — and  in  the  fob 
pocket  a  crumpled  note,  with  the  odour  of  carna 
tions  clinging  to  it. 

Harleston  glanced  at  Crenshaw  as  he  opened  the 
note — and  caught  a  sly  look  in  his  eyes. 


Crenshaw  59 

"Something  doing,  Crenshaw?"  he  queried. 

Another  shrug  was  Crenshaw's  answer — and  the 
sly  look  grew  into  a  sly  smile. 

The  note,  apparently  in  a  woman's  handwriting, 
was  in  French,  and  contained  five  words  and  an 
initial: 

A  Vaube  du  jour. 
M. 

Harleston  looked  at  it  long  enough  to  fix  in  his 
mind  the  penmanship  and  to  mark  the  little  eccen 
tricities  of  style.  Then  he  folded  it  and  put  it  in 
Crenshaw's  outside  pocket. 

"Thank  you!"  said  he,  with  an  amused  smile. 

"You  forgot  to  look  in  the  soles  of  my  shoes?" 
Crenshaw  jeered. 

"Someone  else  will  do  that,"  Harleston  re 
plied. 

"Someone  else?"  Crenshaw  inflected. 

"The  police  always  search  prisoners,  I  believe." 

"My  God,  you  don't  intend  to  turn  me  over  to 
the  police?"  Crenshaw  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?"  And  when  Crenshaw  did  not 
reply:  "Wherein  are  you  different  from  any  other 


60       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

felon  taken  red-handed — except  that  you  were 
taken  twice  in  the  same  night,  indeed?" 

"Think  of  the  scandal  that  will  ensue!"  Cren- 
shaw  cried. 

"It  won't  affect  me!"  Harleston  laughed. 

"  Won't  affect  you?  "  the  other  retorted.  "  May 
be  it  won't — and  maybe  it  will!" 

"We  shall  try  it,"  Harleston  remarked,  and 
picked  up  the  telephone. 

Crenshaw  watched  him  with  a  snarling  sneer  on 
his  lips. 

Harleston  gave  the  private  number  of  the  police 
superintendent.  He  himself  answered. 

"Major  Ranleigh,  this  is  Harleston.  I'd  like 
to  have  a  man  report  to  me  at  the  Collingwood  at 
once. — No;  one  will  be  enough,  thank  you.  Have 
him  come  right  up  to  my  apartment.  Good-bye! 
— Now  if  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  brief  time,  Mr. 
Crenshaw,  I'll  get  into  some  clothes — while  you 
think  over  the  question  whether  you  will  explain 
or  go  to  prison." 

"You  will  not  dare!"  Crenshaw  laughed  mock 
ingly.  "Your  State  Department  won't  stand  for 
it  a  moment  when  they  hear  of  it — which  they'll 
do  at  ten  o'clock,  if  I'm  missing." 


Crenshaw  61 

"  Let  me  felicitate  you  on  your  forehandedness," 
Harleston  called  from  the  next  room.  "It's  ad 
mirably  planned,  but  not  effective  for  your  re 
lease." 

"Hell!"  snorted  Crenshaw,  and  relapsed  into 
silence. 

Presently  Harleston  appeared,  dressed  for  the 
morning. 

"Why  not  spread  your  cards  on  the  table,  Cren 
shaw?"  he  asked.  "  I  did  stumble  on  the  deserted 
cab  this  morning,  wholly  by  accident;  I  was  on 
my  way  here.  I  did  find  in  it  a  letter  and  these 
roses,  and  I  brought  them  here.  I  don't  know  if 
you  know  what  that  letter  contained — I  do.  It's 
in  cipher— and  will  be  turned  over  to  the  State 
Department  for  translation.  What  I  want  to 
know  is:  first — what  is  the  message  of  the  letter, 
if  you  know;  second — who  was  the  woman  in 
the  cab,  and  the  facts  of  the  episode;  third — what 
governments,  if  any,  are  concerned." 

"You're  amazingly  moderate  in  your  demands," 
Crenshaw  sarcasmed;  "so  moderate,  indeed,  that 
I  would  acquiesce  at  once  but  for  the  fact  that 
I'm  wholly  ignorant  of  the  contents  of  the  letter. 
The  name  of  the  woman,  and  the  episode  of  the  cab 


62       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

are  none  of  your  affair;  nor  do  the  names  of  parties, 
whether  personal  or  government,  concern  you  in 
the  least." 

"Very  well.  We'll  close  up  the  cards  and  play 
the  game.  The  first  thing  in  the  game,  as  I  said 
a  moment  ago,  Crenshaw,  is  not  to  squeal  when 
you  are  in  a  hole  and  losing." 

A  knock  came  at  the  door.  Harleston  crossed 
and  swung  it  open. 

A  young  man — presumably  a  business  man, 
quietly-dressed — stood  at  attention  and  saluted. 
If  he  saw  the  bound  man  in  the  chair,  his  eyes 
never  showed  it. 

"Ah,  Whiteside,"  Harleston  remarked.  "I'm 
glad  it  is  you  who  was  sent.  Come  in.  ...  You 
will  remain  here  and  guard  this  man;  you  will 
prevent  any  attempt  at  escape  or  rescue,  even 
though  you  are  obliged  to  use  the  utmost  force. 
I'm  for  down- town  now;  and  I  will  communicate 
with  you  at  the  earliest  moment.  Meanwhile, 
the  man  is  in  your  charge." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Harleston!"  Whiteside  answered. 

"I  want  some  breakfast!"  snapped  Crenshaw. 

"The  officer  will  order  from  the  cafe  whatever 
you  wish,"  Harleston  replied;  and  picking  up  his 


Crenshaw  63 

stick  he  departed,  the  letter  and  the  photograph 
in  the  sealed  envelope  in  his  inside  pocket. 

As  he  went  out,  he  smiled  pleasantly  at  Cren 
shaw. 


ANOTHER  WOMAN 

HARLESTON  walked  down  Sixteenth  Street — the 
Avenue  of  the  Presidents,  if  you  have  time  either 
to  say  it  or  write  it.  The  Secretary  of  State  re 
sided  on  it,  and,  as  chance  had  it,  he  was  descend 
ing  the  front  steps  as  Harleston  came  along. 

Now  the  Secretary  was  duly  impressed  with  all 
the  dignity  of  his  official  position,  and  he  rarely 
failed  to  pull  it  on  the  ordinary  individual — cockey 
would  be  about  the  proper  term.  In  Harleston, 
however,  he  recognized  an  unusual  personage; 
one  to  whom  the  Department  was  wont  to  turn 
when  all  others  had  failed  in  its  diplomatic  prob 
lems;  who  had  some  wealth  and  an  absolutely 
secure  social  position ;  who  accepted  no  pecuniary 
recompense  for  his  service,  doing  it  all  for  pure 
amusement,  and  because  his  government  requested 
it. 

"It's  too  fine  a  day  to  ride  to  the  Department," 
64 


Another  Woman  65 

Raid  the  Secretary.  "It's  much  too  fine,  really, 
to  go  anywhere  except  to  the  Ratoplan  and  play 
golf." 

Harleston  agreed. 

"I'll  take  you  on  at  four  o'clock,"  the  Secretary 
suggested. 

"If  that  is  not  a  command,"  said  Harleston, 
"I  should  like  first  to  consult  you  about  a  matter 
which  arose  last  night,  or  rather  early  this  morn 
ing.  I  was  bound  for  your  office  now.  I  can, 
however,  give  you  the  main  facts  as  we  go 
along." 

" Proceed ! "  said  the  Secretary.  "I'm  all  atten 
tion." 

"It  may  be  of  grave  importance  and  it  may  be 
of  very  little " 

"What  do  you  think  it  is?" 

"I  think  it  is  of  first  importance,  judging  from 
known  facts.  If  Carpenter  can  translate  the 
cipher  message,  it  will " 

"The  Department  has  full  faith  in  your  diagno 
sis,  Harleston.  You're  the  surgeon ;  you  prescribe 
the  treatment  and  I'll  see  that  it  is  followed.  Now 
drive  on  with  the  story." 

"It  begins  with  a  letter,  a  photograph,  a  hand- 


66       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

kerchief,  three  American  Beauty  roses — all  in  the 
cab  of  the  sleeping  horse " 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  Secretary. 

" at  one  o'clock  on  Massachusetts  Avenue 

and  Eighteenth  Street." 

"Is  the  horse  still  asleep,  Harleston?" 

"The  horse  awoke,  and  straightway  went  to  his 
stand  in  Dupont  Circle!"  Harleston  laughed  and 
related  the  incidents  of  the  night  and  early  morn 
ing,  finishing  his  account  in  the  Secretary's  private 
office. 

"Most  amazing!"  the  latter  reflected,  eyes 
half-closed  as  though  seeing  a  mental  picture 
of  it  all. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  photograph  and  studied 
it  awhile. 

"So  this  is  the  wonderful  Madeline  Spencer — 
who  came  so  near  to  throwing  our  friend,  the  King 
of  Valeria,  out  of  his  Archdukeship,  and  later  from 
his  throne.  I  remember  the  matter  most  distinctly. 
I  was  a  friend  of  the  Dalberg  family  of  the  Eastern 
Shore,  and  of  Armand  Dalberg  himself."  He 
paused,  and  looked  again  at  the  picture.  ' '  H-u-m ! 
She  is  a  very  beautiful  woman,  Harleston,  a  very 
beautiful  woman!  I  think  I  have  never  seen  her 


Another  Woman  67 

equal;  certainly  never  her  superior.  These  dark- 
haired,  classic  featured  ones  for  me,  Harleston; 
the  pale  blonde  type  does  not  appeal.  The  perox 
ides  come  of  that  class."  Again  the  photograph 
did  duty.  "I  could  almost  wish  that  she  were 
the  lost  lady  of  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse — 
so  that  I  might  see  her  in  the  flesh.  I've  never 
seen  her,  you  know." 

Harleston  smoothed  back  a  smile.  The  Secre 
tary  too  was  getting  sentimental  over  the  lady, 
and  he  had  never  seen  her;  though  he  had  known 
of  her  rare  doings;  and  those  doings  had,  it  ap 
peared,  had  their  natural  effect  of  enveloping  her 
in  a  glamour  of  fascination  because  of  what  she 
had  done. 

"You've  seen  her?"  the  Secretary  asked. 

"I've  known  her  since  she  was  Madeline  Cuth- 
bert.  Since  then  she's  had  a  history.  Possibly, 
taken  altogether  she's  a  pretty  bad  lot.  And  she  is 
not  only  beautiful;  she's  fascinating,  simply  fasci 
nating;  it's  a  rare  man,  a  very  rare  man,  who  can 
be  with  her  ten  minutes  and  not  succumb  to  her 
manifold  attractions  of  mind  and  body." 

"You  have  succumbed?"  the  Secretary  smiled. 

"I  have — twenty  times  at  least.     You'll  join 


68       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  throng,  if  she  has  occasion  to  need  you,  and 
gives  you  half  a  chance." 

"I'm  married!"  said  the  Secretary. 

"I'm  quite  aware  of  it!" 

"I'm  immune!" 

"And  yet  you're  wishing  to  see  her  in  the  flesh ! " 
Harleston  smiled. 

"I  think  I  can  safely  take  the  risk!"  smoothing 
his  chin  complacently. 

"Other  men  have  thought  the  same,  I  believe, 
and  been  burned.  However,  if  the  lady  is  in 
Washington  I'll  engage  that  you  meet  her.  Also, 
I'll  acquaint  her  of  your  boasted  immunity  from 
her  beaux  yeux." 

"The  latter  isn't  within  the  scope  of  your  duty, 
sir,"  the  Secretary  smiled.  "Now  we'll  have 
Carpenter." 

He  touched  a  button. 

A  moment  later  Carpenter  entered ;  a  scholarly- 
looking  man  in  the  fifties;  bald  as  an  egg,  with  the 
quiet  dignity  of  bearing  which  goes  with  a  student, 
who  at  the  same  time  is  an  expert  in  his  particular 
line — and  knows  it.  He  was  the  Fifth  Assistant- 
Secretary,  had  been  the  Fifth  Assistant  and  Chief 
of  the  Cipher  Division  for  years.  His  superior 


Another  Woman  69 

was  not  to  be  found  in  any  capital  in  Europe. 
His  business  with  the  secret  service  of  the  Depart 
ment  was  to  pull  the  strings  and  obtain  results; 
and  he  got  results,  else  he  would  not  have  been 
continued  in  office.  His  specialty,  however,  was 
ciphers;  and  his  chief  joy  was  in  a  case  that  had  a 
cipher  at  the  bottom.  Ciphers  were  his  recreation, 
as  well  as  his  business. 

The  Secretary  with  a  gesture  turned  him  over  to 
Harleston — and  Harleston  handed  him  the  letter. 

"What  do  you  make  out  of  it,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 
he  asked. 

Carpenter  took  the  letter  and  examined  it  for 
a  moment,  holding  it  to  the  light,  and  carefully 
feeling  its  texture. 

"Not  a  great  deal  cursorily,"  he  answered. 
"It's  a  French  paper — the  sort,  I  think,  used 
at  the  Quay  d'Orsay.  Have  you  the  envelope 
accompanying  it?" 

"Here  it  is!"  said  Harleston. 

"This  envelope,  however,  is  not  French;  it's 
English,"  Carpenter  said  instantly.  "See!  a 
saltire  within  an  orle  is  the  private  water-mark  of 
Sergeant  &  Co.  I  likely  can  tell  you  more  after 
careful  examination  in  my  workshop." 


70       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"How  about  the  message  itself?"  Harleston 
asked. 

"It  is  the  Vigenerie  cipher,  that's  reasonably 
certain;  and,  as  you  are  aware,  Mr.  Harleston, 
the  Vigenerie  is  practically  impossible  of  solution 
without  the  key-word.  It  is  the  one  cipher  that 
needs  no  code- book,  nor  anything  else  that  can 
be  lost  or  stolen — the  code- word  can  be  carried  in 
one's  mind.  We  used  it  in  the  De  la  Porte  affair, 
you  will  remember.  Indeed,  just  because  of  its 
simplicity  it  is  used  more  generally  by  every  nation 
than  any  other  cipher." 

"I  thought  that  you  might  be  able  to  work  it 
out,"  said  Harleston.  "You  can  do  it  if  any  one 
on  earth  can." 

"I  can  do  some  things,  Mr.  Harleston,"  smiled 
Carpenter  deprecatingly,  "but  I'm  not  omni 
scient.  For  instance :  What  language  is  the  key 
word — French,  Italian,  Spanish,  English?  The 
message  is  written  on  French  paper,  enclosed 
in  an  English  envelope. — However,  the  facts 
you  have  may  clear  up  that  phase  of  the 
matter." 

"Here  are  the  facts,  as  I  know  them,"  said 
Harleston. 


Another  Woman  71 

Carpenter  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  closed  his 
eyes,  and  listened. 

"The  message  is,  I  should  confidently  say, 
written  in  English  or  French,  with  the  chances 
much  in  favour  of  the  latter,"  he  said,  when  Har- 
leston  had  concluded.  "Everyone  concerned  is 
English  or  American;  the  men  who  descended 
upon  you  so  peculiarly  and  foolishly,  and  who 
showed  their  inexperience  in  every  move,  were 
Americans,  I  take  it,  as  was  also  the  woman  who 
telephoned  you.  Moreover,  she  is  fighting  them." 

"Then  your  idea  is  that  the  United  States  is  not 
concerned  in  the  matter?"  the  Secretary  asked. 

"Not  directly,  yet  it  may  be  very  much  con 
cerned  in  the  result.  We  will  know  more  about 
it  after  Mr.  Harleston  has  had  his  interview  with 
the  lady." 

"That's  so!"  the  Secretary  reflected.  "We 
shall  trust  you,  Harleston,  to  find  out  something 
definite  from  her.  Keep  me  advised  if  anything 
turns  up.  It  seems  peculiar,  and  it  may  be  only 
a  personal  matter  and  not  an  affaire  d'etat.  At 
all  events,  you've  a  pleasant  interview  before  you." 

"Maybe    I    have — and    maybe    I    haven't!'* 


72       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Harleston  laughed — and  he  and  Carpenter  went 
out,  passing  the  French  Ambassador  in  the  ante 
room. 

Harleston  went  straight  to  Police  Headquarters. 
The  Chief  was  waiting  for  him. 

"I  had  Thompson,  your  cab  driver,  here,"  said 
Ranleigh,  "and  he  tells  a  somewhat  unusual  but 
apparently  straight  tale;  moreover,  he  is  a  very 
respectable  negro,  well  known  to  the  guards  and 
the  officers  on  duty  around  Dupont  Circle,  and 
they  regard  him  as  entirely  trustworthy.  He 
says  that  last  evening  about  nine  o'clock,  when  he 
was  jogging  down  Connecticut  Avenue  on  his 
way  home — he  owns  his  rig — he  was  hailed  by  a 
fare  in  evening  dress,  top  coat,  and  hat,  who  di 
rected  him  to  drive  west  on  Massachusetts  Avenue. 
In  the  neighbourhood  of  Twenty-second  Street, 
the  fare  signalled  to  stop  and  ordered  him  to  come 
to  the  door.  There  he  asked  him  to  hire  the  horse 
and  cab  until  this  morning,  when  they  would  be 
returned  to  him  at  that  point.  Thompson  natu 
rally  demurred;  whereupon  the  man  offered  to 
deposit  with  him  in  cash  the  value  of  the  horse  and 
cab,  to  be  refunded  upon  their  return  in  the  morn 
ing,  less  fifty  dollars  for  their  hire.  This  was  too 


Another  Woman  73 

good  to  let  slip  and  Thompson  acquiesced,  fixing 
the  value  at  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  which 
sum  the  man  skinned  off  a  roll  of  yellow-backs. 
Then  the  fare  buttoned  his  coat  around  him, 
jumped  on  the  box,  and  drove  east  on  Massachu 
setts  Avenue.  This  morning  the  horse  and  cab 
were  backed  up  to  the  curb  at  their  customary 
stand  in  Dupont  Circle,  where  they  were  found  by 
officer  Murphy  shortly  after  daybreak;  before  he 
could  report  the  absence  of  the  driver,  Thompson 
came  up  and  explained." 

"Can  Thompson  describe  the  man?"  Harleston 
asked. 

"Merely  that  he  was  clean-shaved,  medium- 
sized,  somewhat  stout,  wore  evening  clothes,  and 
was,  apparently,  a  gentleman.  Thompson  thinks 
however,  that  he  could  readily  recognize  the  man, 
so  we  should  let  him  have  a  look  at  the  fellow 
that's  under  guard  in  your  apartment." 

"It  isn't  he,"  Harleston  explained.  "He's 
slender,  with  a  mustache  and  imperial.  It  was 
Marston,  likely.  Did  any  of  your  officers  see 
cab  No.  333  between  nine  P.M.  and  this  morning?" 

"The  reports  are  clean  of  No.  333,  but  we 
are  investigating  now.  It's  not  likely,  however. 


74       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Meanwhile,  if  there  is  anything  else  I  can  do,  Mr. 
Harleston ' ' 

"You  can  listen  to  the  balance  of  the  episode — 
beginning  at  half-past  one  this  morning,  when  I 
found  the  cab  deserted  at  Eighteenth  Street  and 
Massachusetts  Avenue,  with  the  horse  lying  in 
the  roadway,  asleep  in  the  shafts.  ..." 

"What  do  you  wish  the  police  to  do,  Mr.  Har 
leston?"  the  Superintendent  asked  at  the  end. 

"Nothing,  until  I've  seen  the  Lady  of  Peacock 
Alley.  Then  I'll  likely  know  something  definite 
— whether  to  keep  hands  off  or  to  get  busy." 

"Shan't  we  even  try  to  locate  the  two  men,  in 
preparation  for  your  getting  busy?" 

"H'm!"  reflected  Harleston.  "Do  it  very 
quietly  then.  You  see,  I  don't  know  whom 
you're  likely  to  locate,  nor  whether  we  want 
to  locate  them." 

"The  men  who  visited  your  apartment  are  not 
of  the  profession,  Mr.  Harleston." 

"It's  their  profession  that's  bothering  me!" 
Harleston  laughed.  "Why  are  three  Americans 
engaged  in  what  bears  every  appearance  of  being 
a  diplomatic  matter,  and  of  which  our  State  De 
partment  knows  nothing?" 


Another  Woman  75 

"There's  a  woman  in  it,  I  believe;  likely  two, 
possibly  three!"  was  the  smiling  reply. 

"Hump!"  said  Harleston.  "A  woman  is  at 
the  bottom  of  most  things,  that's  a  fact;  she's 
about  the  only  thing  for  which  a  man  will  betray 
his  country.  However,  as  they're  three  men  there 
should  be  three  women " 

"One  woman  is  enough — if  she  is  sufficiently 
fascinating  and  plays  the  men  off  against  one 
another.  Though  you've  plenty  of  women  in 
the  case,  Mr.  Harleston,  if  you're  looking  for  the 
three: — the  one  whom  you're  to  meet  this  after 
noon;  the  unknown  who  left  the  Collingwood  so 
mysteriously;  and  the  one  of  the  photograph.  If 
the  other  two  are  as  lovely  as  she  of  the  photograph 
they  are  some  trio.  I  shouldn't  care  for  the  latter 
lady  to  tempt  me  overlong." 

"Wise  man ! "  Harleston  remarked,  as  he  arose  to 
go.  "I'll  advise  you  after  the  interview.  Mean 
while  you  might  have  the  cabby  look  at  the  fellow 
in  durance  at  the  Collingwood.  Possibly  he  has 
seen  him  before;  which  may  give  us  a  lead — if  we 
find  we  want  a  lead." 

The  telephone  buzzed;  Ranleigh  answered  it — 
then  raised  his  hand  to  Harleston  to  remain. 


76       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

After  a  moment,  he  motioned  for  Harleston  to  come 
closer  and  held  the  receiver  so  that  both  could  hear. 

"I  can  see  you  at  three  o'clock,"  Ranleigh  said. 

"Three  o'clock  will  be  very  nice,"  came  a  femi 
nine  voice — soft,  with  a  bit  of  a  drawl. 

"Very  well,"  Ranleigh  replied.  "If  you  will 
give  me  your  name — I  missed  it.  Whom  am  I 
to  expect  at  three?" 

"Mrs.  Winton,  of  the  Burlingame  apartments. 
I'll  be  punctual — and  thank  you  so  much.  Good 
bye!" 

"Anything  familiar  about  the  voice?"  Ranleigh 
asked,  pushing  back  the  instrument. 

Harleston  shook  his  head  in  negation. 

"I  thought  it  might  be  your  Lady  of  Peacock 
Alley,  for  it's  about  the  cab  matter.  She  says 
that  she  has  something  to  tell  me  regarding  a 
mysterious  cab  on  Eighteenth  Street  last  night 
sometime  about  one  o'clock." 

"There  are  quite  too  many  women  in  this 
affair,"  Harleston  commented.  "However,  the 
Burlingame  is  almost  directly  across  the  street 
from  where  I  found  the  cab,  so  her  story  will  be 
interesting — if  it's  not  a  plant." 

"And  it  may  be  even  more  interesting  if  it  is 


Another  Woman  77 

a  plant,"  Ranleigh  added.     "If  you  will  come  in 
a  bit  before  three,  I'll  put  you  where  you  can  see 
and  hear  everything  that  takes  place." 
'Til  do  it!"  said  Harleston. 


VI 

THE   GREY-STONE  HOUSE 

HARLESTON  returned  at  a  quarter  to  three,  and 
Ranleigh  showed  him  into  the  small  room  at  the 
rear,  provided  with  every  facility  for  seeing  what 
went  on  and  overhearing  and  reducing  what  was 
said  in  the  Superintendent's  private  office. 

Promptly  at  three,  Mrs.  Winton  was  announced 
by  appointment,  and  was  instantly  admitted. 

She  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  slender,  with 
dark  hair  and  a  face  just  missing  beauty.  She 
was  gowned  in  black,  with  a  bunch  of  violets  at 
her  waist,  and  she  wore  a  large  mesh  veil,  through 
which  her  particularly  fine  dark  eyes  sparkled 
discriminatingly. 

The  Superintendent  arose  and  bowed  gra 
ciously.  Ranleigh  was  a  gentleman  by  birth  and 
by  breeding. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Winton?"  he 
7* 


The  Grey-Stone  House  79 

asked,  placing  a  chair  for  her — where  her  face 
would  be  in  full  view  from  the  cabinet. 

"You  can  do  nothing  for  me,  sir,"  she  replied, 
with  a  charming  smile.  "I  came  to  you  as  head 
of  the  Police  Department  for  the  purpose  of  de 
tailing  what  I  saw  in  connection  with  the  matter 
I  mentioned  to  you  over  the  telephone.  It  may 
be  of  no  value  to  you — I  even  may  do  wrong  in 
volunteering  my  information,  but — 

"On  the  contrary,"  the  Superintendent  inter 
jected,  "you  confer  a  great  favour  on  this  De 
partment  by  reporting  to  it  any  suspicious 
circumstances.  It  is  for  it  to  investigate  and  de 
termine  whether  they  call  for  action.  Pray 
proceed,  my  dear  Mrs.  Winton." 

She  gave  him  another  charming  smile  and  went 
on. 

"I  was  out  last  evening,  and  it  was  after  mid 
night  when  I  got  back  to  the  Burlingame.  My 
apartment  is  on  the  third  floor  front.  Instead 
of  going  to  bed  at  once,  I  sat  down  at  the  open 
window  to  enjoy  the  gentle  breeze.  I  must  have 
dozed,  for  I  was  aroused  by  a  cab  coming  up 
Eighteenth  and  stopping  before  the  large,  grey- 
stone  house  opposite — the  rest  of  the  houses  are 


80       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

brick — which  was  unoccupied  until  two  days  ago, 
when  it  was  rented  furnished.  I  live  just  across 
the  street  and  hence  I  notice  these  things — casu 
ally,  of  course,  as  one  does.  I  watched  the  cab 
with  languid  interest ;  saw  the  driver  descend  from 
the  box,  which  seemed  a  bit  peculiar;  but  when, 
instead  of  going  to  the  door  of  the  cab,  he  went 
up  the  front  steps  and  into  the  house — the  door 
of  which  he  opened  with  a  key  that  he  took  from 
his  pocket — my  curiosity  was  aroused.  A  moment 
later,  a  man  in  evening  dress  came  leisurely  out 
and  sauntered  to  the  carriage.  It  seemed  to  me 
he  was  interested  in  looking  around  him,  and  at 
the  houses  opposite,  rather  than  at  the  cab.  He 
remained  at  the  cab,  presumably  in  talk  with  those 
within,  for  several  minutes.  Presently  the  door 
clicked  and  a  woman  stepped  out,  followed  by  a 
man.  The  woman  disappeared  into  the  house. 
The  two  men  drew  in  so  close  to  the  cab  that  they 
were  hidden  from  me;  when  they  reappeared, 
they  were  carrying  a  woman — or  her  body — be 
tween  them.  They  hurriedly  crossed  the  side 
walk,  mounted  the  steps,  and  the  house-door  closed 
behind  them  instantly.  The  noise  of  the  door 
seemed  to  arouse  the  horse,  doubtless  he  took  it 


The  Grey-Stone  House  81 

for  the  door  of  the  cab,  and  he  started  slowly  up 
the  street  toward  Massachusetts  Avenue.  After 
walking  a  short  distance,  and  in  front  of  a  vacant 
lot  near  the  corner,  he  halted — obviously  he  real 
ized  that  no  one  was  holding  the  lines,  and  he  was 
waiting  for  his  driver  to  return.  Just  then  one  of 
the  men  put  his  head  out  of  the  doorway,  saw  that 
the  horse  was  no  longer  before  the  house,  and 
dodged  quickly  back.  I  waited  for  further  de 
velopments  from  the  house.  None  came,  except 
that  in  one  of  the  rooms  a  light  was  made,  but  it 
was  behind  closed  shades.  Pretty  soon  the  horse 
calmly  lay  down  in  the  shafts,  stretched  out,  and 
apparently  went  to  sleep.  Disturbed  by  the 
occurrence,  and  debating  what  I  ought  to  do,  I 
sat  a  while  longer;  and  I  must  have  dozed  again, 
for  when  I  awoke  the  house  was  dark,  and  a  man, 
a  strange  man,  I  think,  was  standing  beside  the 
cab,  and  the  horse  was  up.  The  man  was  gather 
ing  the  reins;  he  fastened  them  to  the  driver's 
seat,  spoke  to  the  horse,  and  the  horse  moved  off 
and  into  Massachusetts  Avenue  toward  Dupont 
Circle.  The  man  watched  him  for  a  moment ;  then 
turned  and  went  down  Massachusetts  Avenue. 
After  waiting  a  short  while,  I  went  to  bed.  This 


82       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

morning,  I  decided  it  was  well  for  you  to  know 
of  the  episode." 

"And  you  have  told  it  wonderfully  well,  Mrs. 
Winton,"  said  the  Superintendent,  "wonderfully 
well,  indeed." 

"You  don't  know  how  often  I  rehearsed,"  she 
laughed,  "nor  how  much  of  the  essentials  I  may 
have  omitted!" 

"Not  much,  I  fancy.  However,  you'll  not 
object,  I  suppose,  to  answering  a  few  questions 
as  to  details." 

"I  wish  you  to  ask  anything  that  suggests 
itself,"  she  replied.  "I've  an  appointment  at 
the  Chateau  at  five;  just  give  me  time  to  keep 
it." 

"We'll  get  through  long  before  five!"  the  Super 
intendent  smiled,  though  his  shrewd  grey  eyes 
were  coldly  critical.  It  was  most  unlikely  that 
she  was  the  Lady  of  Peacock  Alley ;  yet  all  things 
are  possible  where  a  woman  is  concerned,  as  he 
knew  from  experience.  "About  what  time  was 
it  when  the  cab  stopped  before  the  house?"  he 
asked. 

"About  one  o'clock,  as  near  as  I  can  judge,"  she 
answered. 


The  Grey-Stone  House  83 

"What  was  the  interval  between  the  driver's 
going  into  the  house  and  the  man  in  evening 
clothes  coming  out?" 

"Scarcely  any  interval — not  more  than  a 
minute." 

"Do  you  know  how  long  a  minute  is?"  said 
Ranleigh,  drawing  out  his  watch. 

"Not  exactly!"  she  admitted. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  test  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Then  tell  me  when  it  is  a  minute.  .  .  ." 

"Now?  "said  she. 

"Fourteen  seconds!"  he  smiled. 

"Fourteen  seconds!"  she  exclaimed  incredu 
lously.  "It's  not  possible." 

"You're  considerably  above  the  average,  Mrs. 
Winton.  However,  it  depends  much  on  what 
you're  doing  at  the  moment.  Last  night  when 
you  were  watching,  not  estimating,  you  probably 
were  nearer  right  as  to  the  interval.  When,  may 
I  ask,  did  the  driver  reappear?" 

"He  didn't  reappear — at  least  that  I  saw;  he 
may  have  come  out  of  the  house  while  I  dozed." 

"Might  not  the  man  that  you  saw  last  have 
been  he?" 


84       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'm  perfectly  sure  it  wasn't.  The  driver 
was  medium-sized  and  stout,  this  man  was 
tall  and  slender.  I  couldn't  have  been  mis 
taken." 

Ranleigh  nodded.  Her  story  was  testing  up 
very  well  on  the  known  points. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Winton,  can  you  give  some  descrip 
tion  of  the  woman  in  the  case — her  appearance — 
how  she  was  dressed — anything  to  aid  us  in  identi 
fying  her?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  be  of  much  help,"  Mrs. 
Winton  replied.  "She  was,  I  think,  clad  in  a 
dark  street  gown.  In  the  uncertain  electric  light, 
I  could  not  distinguish  the  colour — and  the  men 
were  so  close  to  her  I  had  little  chance  to  see. 
About  all  I'm  sure  of  is  that  it  was  a  woman; 
slender  and  about  the  average  height.  I  did  not 
see  her  face." 

The  Chief  nodded  again. 

"What  about  the  house,  Mrs.  Winton?  Did 
you  see  anything  unusual  before  tonight?" 

"  I  saw  no  one  but  the  servants — though  I  didn't 
look  quite  all  the  time,"  she  added  with  a  smile. 
"I'm  not  unduly  curious,  I  think,  Major  Ranleigh, 
under  the,  to  me,  unusual  circumstances;  and  in 


The  Grey-Stone  House  85 

mitigation  of  my  curiosity,  I've  told  no  one  of  the 
matter." 

"You're  a  woman  of  rare  discretion,  Mrs'.  Win- 
ton,"  the  Superintendent  replied. 

"I  fear  I'm  a  busy-body,"  she  returned. 

"I  wish  then  there  were  more  busy-bodies  of 
your  sort.  Tell  me,  could  you  recognize  the 
men?" 

"Not  with  any  assurance. — Neither  could  I 
recognize  the  occupants  of  the  house,"  she  added. 
"The  truth  is,  though  you  may  doubt,  that  I 
scarcely  notice  them ;  but  one  can't  see  a  to-let-un- 
furnished  sign  on  a  house  opposite  for  six  months, 
without  remarking  its  sudden  disappearance  from 
the  landscape." 

"I  should  say  that  you  wouldn't  be  normal  if 
you  didn't  notice — and  comment,  too,"  Ranleigh 
declared.  "And  the  Department  is  much  in 
debted  to  you  for  the  information,  and  it 
appreciates  the  spirit  that  moves  you  in  the 
matter." 

Mrs.  Winton  arose  to  go — the  Superintendent 
accompanied  her  into  the  hall,  rang  the  bell  for  the 
elevator,  and  bowed  her  into  it. 

"Don't   you   wish   to   know   the   result?"   he 


86       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

inquired  with  a  quizzical  smile,  as  he  put  her  in 
the  car. 

"I'm  not  unduly  curious!"  she  laughed. 

When  he  returned,  Harleston  was  standing  in 
his  office  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"It's  infernally  close,  not  to  mention  hot,  in 
that  cabinet  of  yours,"  he  observed;  "though  one 
can  see  and  hear." 

"Ever  see  her  before?"  the  Superintendent 
asked. 

"I  don't  recall  it!" 

"Ever  hear  the  voice?" 

"No." 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Good  to  look  at,  truthful,  sincere." 

"And  her  story?" 

"Simple  statement  of  fact,  I  take  it." 

"Hum!"  said  Ranleigh. 

"Which  means?"  Harleston  asked. 

"Nothing  at  present;  may  be  nothing  at  any 
time.  I  never  believe  a  story  till  its  truth  is 
established — and  then  I'm  still  in  a  receptive 
state  of  mind.  However,  it  does  seem  true,  and 
Mrs.  Winton  herself  supports  it ;  which  is  enough 
for  the  time." 


The  Grey-Stone  House  87 

"At  any  rate,  we've  found  the  lady  of  the  cab," 
Harleston  remarked.  "Or  rather  we've  located 
her  as  of  one  o'clock,  which  is  shortly  before  I 
happened  on  the  scene." 

"Is  there  anything  in  the  description  that 
corresponds  to  the  lady  of  the  photograph?"  - 

"It  all  corresponds;  slight,  above  medium- 
height,  dark  gown — she  affects  dark  gowns ; — but 
thousands  of  women  are  slight,  above  medium- 
height,  and  wear  dark  gowns." 

"At  least  it  eliminates  the  very  tall  and  the 
stout,"  Ranleigh  observed.  "  Let  me  ask  you,  what 
do  you  make  of  Mrs.  Winton's  appointment  at  the 
Chateau  at  five,  and  her  being  gowned  in  black?" 

"A  mere  coincidence,  I  think.  What  would  be 
her  object  in  telling  this  story  to  you  between 
three  and  four  o'clock,  and  meeting  me  at  five  to 
recover  the  lost  document." 

"Search  me!  I'm  sure  only  of  this:  there  are 
too  many  women  in  this  affair,  Mr.  Harleston, 
too  many  women !  Man  is  a  reasoning  being  and 
somewhat  consistent;  but  women — "  a  gesture 
ended  the  remark. 

"Just  so!"  Harleston  laughed.  "And  now  for 
the  Lady  of  Peacock  Alley!" 


VII 

SURPRISES 

PEACOCK  ALLEY  was  in  full  gorgeousness  when 
Harleston,  just  at  five  o'clock,  paused  on  the 
landing  above  the  marble  stairs  inside  the  F  Street 
entrance  and  surveyed  the  motley  throng — busy 
with  looking  and  being  looked  at,  with  charming 
and  being  charmed,  with  wondering  and  being 
wondered  at,  with  aping  and  being  aped,  with 
patronizing  and  being  patronized,  with  flattering 
and  being  flattered,  with  fawning  and  being  fawned 
upon,  with  deceiving  and  being  deceived,  with 
bluffing  and  being  bluffed,  with  splurging,  with 
pretending,  with  every  trick  and  artifice  and  sham 
and  chicanery  that  society  and  politics  know,  or 
can  fancy. 

Harleston  was  familiar  with  it  all  for  too  many 
years  even  to  accord  it  a  glance  of  contemptuous 
indifference — when  he  had  anything  else  to  occupy 

88 


Surprises  89 

his  mind ;  and  just  now  his  mind  was  on  a  lady  in 
black  with  three  American  Beauties  on  the  gown. 

He  went  slowly  down  the  steps  to  the  main 
corridor  and  joined  the  buzzing,  kaleidoscopic 
crowd. 

Somewhere  on  the  floor  above,  an  orchestra 
was  playing  for  the  dansant;  and  the  music  came 
fitfully  through  the  chatter  and  confusion.  He 
nodded  to  some  acquaintances,  bowed  formally  to 
others,  shook  hands  when  it  could  not  be  avoided ; 
all  the  while  progressing  slowly  down  the  corridor 
in  search  of  three  red  roses  on  a  black  gown. 

And  near  the  far  end  he  saw,  for  an  instant 
through  a  rift  in  the  crowd,  the  three  roses  on  a 
black  gown,  but  not  the  face  above  them;  the 
next  instant  the  rift  closed.  However,  he  knew 
now  that  she  was  here  and  where  to  find  her,  and 
he  made  his  way  through  the  press  toward  where 
she  was  waiting  for  him. 

Then  the  crowd  suddenly  opened — as  crowds 
do — and  he  saw,  on  the  same  side  of  the  corridor 
and  scarcely  ten  feet  apart,  two  slender  women 
in  black  and  wearing  red  roses;  one  was  Mrs. 
Winton,  the  other  he  had  never  seen. 

It  brought  him  to  a  sharp  pause.    Then  he 


90       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

smiled.  Ranleigh  was  right!  There  were  alto 
gether  too  many  women  in  this  case.  And  which 
one  was  waiting  for  him?  He  knew  neither,  but 
there  was  the  chance  that  the  one  he  was  to  meet 
knew  him. 

.  And  so  he  adventured  it,  walking  slowly  toward 
them,  and  taking  care  that  they  should  notice  him. 

They  did. 

Mrs.  Winton  glanced  at  him  casually  and 
impersonally. 

The  unknown,  whose  face  was  from  him,  turned 
sharply  when  he  dropped  his  stick,  and  looked  at 
him  unrecognizingly.  As  her  eyes  came  down 
they  rested  on  the  other  woman. 

She  gave  a  subdued  exclamation,  arose  and 
threaded  her  way  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
corridor. 

Harleston,  glancing  back,  saw  the  move,  and 
swinging  over  he  followed.  He  would  speak  to 
her — meanwhile,  he  was  looking  at  her.  So  far, 
at  least,  both  were  good  to  look  at;  they  must  be 
good  to  look  at  in  this  business,  it  is  part  of  the 
stock  in  trade. 

"Good  afternoon,  Madame  X,"  he  said,  bowing 
before  her. 


Surprises  91 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Harleston,"  she 
smiled,  giving  him  her  hand  and  making  room 
beside  her  on  the  settee.  "I'm  delighted  to  see 
you,  just  delighted!" 

"It  is  nice  to  meet  again,  isn't  it?"  he  returned. 
"When  did  you  get  to  town?" 

"Only  yesterday!  You  live  in  Washington, 
now,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  off  and  on.  It's  my  headquarters  for 
refitting  and  starting  afresh.  What  do  you  say 
to  a  turn  at  the  dansant?" 

"I'm  ready,  I'm  sure,"  she  replied.  "After 
ward  we'll " 

"Discuss  other  matters!"  he  interjected. 

She  gave  him  an  amused  look,  and  they  passed 
down  the  corridor  and  up  the  marble  steps  to  the 
elevator. 

They  were  dancing  the  Maxixe  when  they 
entered. 

"Do  you  mind  if  we  don't  do  it  on  the  heels?" 
said  she.  "I  think  it's  prettier  the  other  way." 

"So  do  I,"  said  he,  and  they  drifted  down  the 
room. 

He  knew  almost  everyone  on  the  floor;  the 
women  nodded  to  him,  then  stared  coldly  at  his 


c>2       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

companion;  the  men  too  stared  at  her — but  not 
coldly — and  when  they  thought  about  it,  which 
was  seldom  of  late,  nodded  to  him,  and  resumed 
their  staring. 

And  Harleston  did  not  wonder — indeed,  had  it 
been  otherwise,  it  would  have  argued  a  sudden 
paucity  of  appreciation  on  the  part  of  the  smart 
set  there  assembled.  For  this  slender  young 
person  in  black,  a  small  hat  on  her  head,  topping 
hair  of  flaming  red,  an  exquisite  figure  and  a  charm 
ing  pair  of  slender  high-arched  feet,  was  worth 
anyone's  staring,  be  it  either  coldly  or  with  frank 
interest.  And  she  did  not  seem  to  know  it;  which 
in  this  day  of  smug  and  blatant  personal  appre 
ciation  of  one's  good  points — feminine  points — is 
something  of  a  rarity  in  the  sex.  It  may  be,  how 
ever,  that  Madame  X  was  fully  aware  of  her 
beauty,  but  she  was  modest  about  it,  or  seemed 
to  be;  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

They  sat  down  at  a  remote  table  and  Harleston 
ordered  two  cold  drinks — an  apollinaris  with  a 
dash  of  lemon  for  her,  a  Jerry  Hill  for  himself. 
He  noticed  that  the  men  were  looking  and  waver 
ing,  and  he  deliberately  turned  his  chair  around 
and  gave  them  his  back.  He  had  no  objection 


Surprises  93 

to  presenting  the  Lady  of  Peacock  Alley  to  his 
men  friends,  but  just  at  this  time  it  was  not  con 
venient.  The  adventure  was  rather  unusual, 
and  the  lady  altogether  attractive  and  somewhat 
fascinating;  he  chose,  for  the  present  at  least,  to 
go  it  alone.  Moreover,  they  were  to  meet  on  a 
matter  of  her  business  and  by  her  appointment. 

He  had  suggested  the  dansant  that  he  might 
study  her.  And  the  more  he  saw  of  her,  the  more 
he  was  struck  by  her  unaffected  naturalness  and 
apparent  sincerity.  Not  a  word,  not  even  a  sug 
gestion,  while  they  were  dancing,  of  the  matter 
of  the  cab;  it  was  as  though  she  were  just  an  old 
friend.  And  her  dancing  was  a  delight — such 
a  delight,  indeed,  that  he  was  reluctant  to  have 
it  end.  Somehow,  one  gets  to  know  quickly  one's 
partner  in  the  dansant. 

"This  is  perfectly  entrancing,  Mr.  Harleston," 
she  said  presently,  "but  don't  you  think  we  would 
better  hunt  a  retired  corner  and  discuss  other 
matters?" 

"If  you  will  dine  with  me  when  we've  dis 
cussed  them,"  he  replied. 

"It's  only  six  o'clock,"  she  smiled;  "will  the 
discussion  take  so  long?" 


94       The  Cab  of  ,the  Sleeping  Horse 

"It  depends  somewhat  on  when  you  wish 
to  dine,  and  somewhat  on  the  character  of  the 
discussion." 

Her  smile  grew  into  a  quiet,  rippling  laugh. 

"Come  along,"  she  answered.  "I've  found  a 
secluded  nook  in  the  big  red-room  downstairs. 
It's  cozy  and  nice,  and  I've  had  the  maid  reserve 
it  for  me.  Afterwards,"  with  a  sharp  stab  of  her 
brown  eyes,  "I'll  decide  whether  I'll  dine  with 
you." 

The  place  was  as  she  had  said,  cozy  and  nice 
and  secluded;  and  he  put  her  into  it — where  the 
subdued  light  would  fall  on  her  face. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  she  smiled;  "I  am  not  afraid 
of  the  light." 

"Nor  would  I  be  if  I  were  you,"  he  replied. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  ever  so  slightly. 

"Why  fence?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  indeed?"  he  replied. 

"And  why,  may  I  ask,  did  you  meet  me  here 
this  afternoon?" 

"Curiosity — later,  satisfaction  and  apprecia 
tion." 

"And  why  do  you  think  I  wanted  to  meet 
you?" 


Surprises  95 

"Heaven  knows!"  he  replied. 

"Suppose,  Mr.  Harleston,  we  resume  the  con 
versation  just  where  we  left  off  last  night.  Your 
last  remark  then  was  that  I  had  a  chance  to  get 
the  articles,  but  no  one  else  had  a  chance.  I'm 
here  now  for  my  chance." 

"And  that  chance  depends  on  a  number  of  con 
tingencies,"  he  replied :  "whether  I  have  the  desired 
articles;  whether  you  have  the  title  to  them,  or 
the  right  of  possession  to  them;  whether  they 
concern  private  matters  or  public  matters;  if  the 
latter,  whether  the  United  States  is  concerned." 

"We  can  assume  the  first,"  said  she.  "I  know 
for  a  fact  that  you  took  the  articles  in  question 
from  the  cab,  which  you  found  deserted  before  a 
vacant  lot." 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  Harleston  asked. 

"Because,  as  I  told  you  over  the  telephone,  you 
were  seen — in  fact,  I  saw  you.  I  saw  you  light 
a  match  inside  the  cab,  come  out  with  the  envelope, 
look  it  over  quickly,  and  put  it  in  your  pocket. 
You'll  admit  these  facts?" 

"I  am  advised  by  my  counsel  that  I'm  not 
obliged  to  answer!"  he  laughed. 

"On  the  ground  that  it  will  incriminate  you?" 


96       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

she  asked  quickly.  "Isn't  that  tantamount  to 
admitting  the  fact?" 

"That  is  a  matter  of  argument,  it  seems  to  me." 

She  smiled  good  naturedly  and  went  on : 

"As  to  your  second  contingency,  Mr.  Harleston; 
the  envelope  and  its  contents  were  left  with  me 
for  delivery  to  another  party — which  I  believe 
gives  me  the  right  of  possession,  as  you  term  it. 
At  any  rate,  it  gives  me  a  better  title  than 
yours." 

"If  the  party  who  left  them  with  you  had  a 
good  title,"  he  amended.  "If,  however,  he  ob 
tained  them  from — a  deserted  cab,  say — then  his 
title  would  be  no  better  than  you've  put  in  me; 
not  so  good,  in  fact,  for  according  to  your  tale  I 
have  the  envelope." 

She  shrugged  again. 

"Now  as  to  your  third  contingency,"  she  went 
on,  "I  am  not  able  to  say  what  is  the  nature  of  the 
document,  nor  whom  nor  what  nation  it  concerns." 

"You  mean  that  you're  ignorant  of  its  contents 
and  its  nature?"  he  asked. 

She  met  his  glance  frankly.  "I  mean  that 
I  haven't  any  idea  of  its  contents  or  its 
purpose." 


Surprises  97 

He  slowly  tapped  his  cigarette  against  the  swing 
ing  brass  ash-receiver. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  well,  my  dear  Madame  X,  to 
lay  your  cards  on  the  table — all  your  cards?" 

"I'm  perfectly  willing,  if  you'll  do  likewise," 
she  replied  instantly. 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"Very  well,"  he  returned.  "Let  me  see  your 
hand  and  you  shall  see  mine." 

"This  one?"  she  smiled,  holding  it  up. 

He  leaned  over  and  took  the  long,  slim  fingers 
in  the  tips  of  his  own — and  she  let  him. 

'"It's  mighty  pretty,"  he  said,  with  assumed 
gravity.  "Am  I  to  have  it  in  place  of  the  facts — 
or  along  with  them?" 

"Neither  at  present,"  withdrawing  her  hand. 
"Business  first,  Mr.  Harleston — and  cards  on  the 
table." 

"You're  to  play,"  he  smiled,  "and  whenever 
you  will." 

Ordinarily  he  made  up  his  mind  very  quickly 
as  to  another's  sincerity,  but  she  puzzled  him. 
What  was  the  game?  And  if  there  were  no  game 
so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  how  did  she  happen 
to  be  in  the  very  midst  of  it,  and  trying  to  recover 

7 


98       The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

— or  to  obtain — the  cipher  letter  and  the  photo 
graph?  It  was  a  queer  situation;  the  reasonable 
inferences  were  against  her.  Yet 

"  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin,"  she  was  saying. 

"Begin  at  the  beginning,"  he  advised. 

He  must  appear  to  credit  her  story  that  she  was 
concerned  only  as  an  innocent  associate.  And  it 
was  not  difficult  to  do,  sitting  there  beside  her  in 
the  subdued  light,  under  the  witching  tones  of 
her  voice,  and  the  alluring  fascination  of  her  face. 
The  face  was  not  perfect ;  far  from  it,  if  by  perfect 
is  meant  features  accordant  with  one  another  and 
true  to  type.  Her  hair  was  flaming  red ;  her  eyes 
were  brown,  dark  brown,  a  certain  pensiveness  in 
them  most  inaccordant  with  the  hair;  her  nose 
was  slender,  with  sensitive  nostrils;  her  mouth 
was  generous  with  lips  a  trifle  full;  her  teeth  were 
exquisitely  white  and  symmetrical — and  she 
showed  them  with  due  modesty,  yet  with  proper 
appreciation  of  their  beauty. 

Altogether  she  was  a  very  charming  picture ;  and 
throwing  away  his  cigarette,  he  lighted  a  cigar 
and  settled  back  to  watch  the  play  of  her  features 
and  hear  the  melody  of  her  voice.  He  was  a  trifle 
impressed  with  the  lady — and  he  was  willing  that 


Surprises  99 

the  tale  require  time  and  attention.  Further 
more,  it  was  his  business  to  observe  her  critically, 
so  that  he  might  decide  as  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
In  the  present  instance  his  business  was  very 
much  to  his  liking,  but  that  did  not  make  it  any 
the  less  business. 

Something  of  which  the  lady  may  have  sus 
pected,  and  was  prepared  to  humour.  A  man 
must  be  humoured  at  times — particularly  when 
the  woman  is  trying  for  something  that  can  only 
be  come  at  through  his  favour  or  acquiescence. 

"To  begin  at  the  beginning  will  make  it  a  long 
story,"  she  warned. 

"Then  by  all  means  begin  it  there,"  he  answered. 

"You  can  endure  it?" 

"I'm  very  comfortable;  we  are  alone;  and  the 
light  is  admirable." 

"Same  here!"  she  smiled,  with  a  tantalizing 
glance  from  the  brown  eyes.  ' '  Can  you  start  me  ?' ' 

"I  might,  but  I  won't.  The  glory  shall  all  be 
yours." 

"I'm  glad  there  is  to  be  some  glory  in  this  affair; 
there's  been  little  enough  so  far.  However,  to 
begin." 

"No  hurry,  my  dear  Madame  X." 


ioo     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Don't  you  want  my  decision  as  to  dinner?" 
she  asked. 

"You  can  continue  the  narrative  while  we  dine. 
Now  to  begin." 

"Then  vanish  Madame  X,  and  enter  Mistress 
Clephane." 

At  that  moment  a  woman  and  a  man  entered 
the  room  from  the  corridor  by  the  middle  door, 
and  crossed  to  a  divan  in  the  corner  farthest 
from  Mrs.  Clephane  and  Harleston.  The  former 
had  her  back  to  them;  Harleston  was  facing  their 
way  and  saw  them. 

The  man  was  middle-aged,  bald,  and  somewhat 
stout — and  Harleston  recognized  one  of  his  visitors 
of  the  early  morning.  The  woman  was  sinuous, 
with  raven  hair,  dead  white  complexion,  a  per 
fectly  lovely  face,  and  a  superb  figure.  Harleston 
would  have  known  that  walk  and  that  figure 
anywhere  and  at  any  time  even  if  he  had  not  seen 
her  face. 

It  was  Madeline  Spencer. 


VIII 

THE   STORY 

HARLESTON  quickly  swung  his  chair  around  so 
that  the  broad  back  hid  Mrs.  Clephane  and  him 
self.  He  was  quite  sure  that  she  had  noticed  the 
pair;  though  when  he  glanced  at  her  she  was 
looking  thoughtfully  at  him,  as  if  considering  where 
to  begin  her  story. 

"Do  you  know  the  two  who  just  came  in  and 
are  sitting  in  the  far  corner,"  he  asked;  "the 
slender  woman  and  the  bald-headed  man?" 

"No,"  she  answered;  "except  that  she  is  an 
exceedingly  fine-looking  woman — as  you  doubt 
less  have  noted." 

"I've  noted  other  things!"  he  smiled. 

"About  her?" 

"No,  not  about  her." 

She  laughed,  deliciously  he  thought. 

"I  best  get  on  with  my  tale,"  she  said.  "So, 
once  upon  a  time,  which  means,  to  be  accurate, 

101 


IO2     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

about  ten  days  ago,  I  took  a  steamer  at  Cherbourg 
for  New  York.  On  the  boat  was  a  Madame  Dur- 
rand,  whom  I  had  known  on  the  Continent  and 
in  London  for  a  number  of  years.  Neither  was 
aware  of  the  other's  sailing  until  we  met  aboard. 
I  think  that  it  was  on  the  fourth  day  out  she  asked 
me  to  come  to  her  state-room;  there  she  told  me 
that  she  was  a  secret  agent  of  the  French  Govern 
ment  and  the  bearer  of  a  most  important  letter 
from  a  high  official,  written  however  in  his  private 
capacity  to  their  Ambassador  in  Washington; 
that  she  had  a  presentiment  ill  fortune  would 
befall  her  on  the  way;  that  there  was  no  one  else 
on  the  ship  in  whom  she  trusted;  and  that  she 
wanted  me  to  accompany  her  to  Washington,  and, 
if  she  were  to  meet  with  an  accident,  to  deliver  the 
letter  to  the  Ambassador.  I  consented,  wishing 
to  oblige  her,  and  being  bound  for  Washington. 
She  showed  me  where  she  carried  the  letter,  and 
gave  me  the  verbal  message  that  went  with  it, 
which  was  the  name  of  the  Minister  and  that  he 
sent  it  in  his  private  capacity  and  not  officially. 
"I'm  not  in  the  secret  service  of  a  government, 
as  you  doubtless  can  infer  from  my  knowledge 
of  matters  and  use  of  technical  language!"  she 


The  Story  rio3 

smiled.  "And  the  affair  rather  fascinated  me,  I 
admit,  by  its  unusualness.  Moreover,  I  knew 
Madame  Durrand  intimately — how  intimately 
may  be  inferred  from  the  circumstances. 

"Well,  we  landed,  had  our  baggage  chalked,  and 
went  to  the  Plaza  for  the  night.  In  the  morning, 
we  took  a  taxi  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station,  were 
held  up  by  traffic,  and  were  hurrying  down  the 
marble  steps  to  catch  our  train,  when  a  man, 
hurrying  also,  jostled  Madame  Durrand.  Her 
heel  caught  and  she  plunged  head  first  down  to  the 
landing.  Of  course  men  sprang  forward  to  her 
assistance  and  picked  her  up — with  her  wrist  and 
ankle  broken.  She  was  plucky,  however,  wonder 
fully  plucky.  She  did  not  faint,  as  I'm  sure  I 
should  have  done;  she  just  turned  ghastly  pale 
— and  said  to  me,  with  a  bit  of  smile,  motioning 
for  me  to  bend  over  her  so  that  none  could  hear : 

"'I  told  you  so,  Edith.  Here  is  where  you 
come  in.'  She  slid  her  hand  under  her  skirt,  drew 
out  the  envelope,  and  slipped  it  to  me.  'Hurry!' 
she  said.  'You  can  yet  make  the  train.' 

"But  I  was  obdurate;  I  wouldn't  leave  her 
until  she  was  in  a  hospital  and  comfortable.  And 
when  she  saw  I  meant  it,  she  smiled — and  fainted. 


IO4     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Well,  instead  of  the  ten  o'clock  train,  I  caught  the 
twelve,  which  should  have  landed  me  here  at  five, 
but  a  series  of  delays,  due  to  accidents  ahead; 
put  us  at  seven.  It  was,  I  thought,  too  late 
to  deliver  my  letter  that  evening,  so  I  took  a  taxi 
here  and  had  dinner.  Then  I  paid  a  short  visit 
to  some  friends  at  the  Shoreham  and  returned 
shortly  before  midnight.  I  found  two  notices  that 
I  had  been  called  on  the  telephone  at  10:15  and 
1 1 :  oo,  by  parties  who  declined  to  give  their  names 
or  leave  a  call.  This  struck  me  as  queer  since  no 
one  knew  of  my  being  in  town  except  my  friends  at 
the  Shoreham.  A  moment  after  I  entered  my 
room,  the  telephone  rang.  I  answered.  A  man's 
voice  came  back. 

'"Who  is  that?'  said  he. 
"'Whom  do  you  want?'  said  I. 
"'I  wish  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Clephane. ' 
'"Very  well,'  said  I;  'I'm  Mrs.  Clephane.' 
"'Oh,  Mrs.  Clephane,  we  have  been  trying   for 
you  since  ten  o'clock!'  said  he.     'The  Ambassador 
wishes  to  see  you  at  once.     Can  you  be  ready  to 
ccme  in  fifteen  minutes — we'll  send  a  carriage  for 
you?' 

'"How  did  you  know' — I  began,  then  stopped. 


The  Story  105 

'Yes,  I'll  be  ready,'  said  I;  'but  let  one  of  the  staff 
come  with  the  carriage.' 

" '  Oh,  of  course ! '  he  replied.  'In  fifteen  minutes, 
madame?' 

"I  didn't  fancy  going  out  at  midnight,  yet  I  had 
undertaken  the  matter  and  I  would  see  it  through. 
I  had  not  changed  from  my  travelling  suit  and  it 
hadn't  a  pocket  in  it ;  nor  had  I  one  such  as  Madame 
Durrand  employed,  so  I  was  carrying  the  letter 
pinned  inside  my  waist.  Now  I  took  it  out  and 
put  it  in  my  hand-bag,  all  the  while  thinking  over 
the  affair  and  liking  it  less  the  more  I  thought. 
It  was  pretty  late  at  night,  and  there  was  some 
thing  suspicious  about  the  affair.  I  went  to  the 
desk  and  hurriedly  wrote  a  note  to  the  friends  that 
I  had  just  left;  then  I  called  a  page,  and  ordered 
him  to  take  it  at  once  to  the  Shoreham.  On  the 
envelope  I  had  written  the  instruction  that  it  was 
not  to  be  delivered  until  morning. 

"As  I  finished,  the  telephone  rang  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Buissard,  I  think  that  was  the  name,  were 
announced  as  coming  by  appointment.  I  went 
down  at  once.  Mrs.  Buissard  was  in  evening 
dress,  a  pretty,  vivacious  woman,  Mr.  Buissard 
was  a  man  of  thirty,  slender,  with  a  little  black 


io6     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

moustache  and  black  hair.  Somehow  I  didn't 
like  him ;  and  I  was  glad  he  had  brought  his  wife — 
she  was  charming. 

' '  They  had  a  cab  instead  of  a  car  or  taxi.  We  got 
in  and  drove  up  Fourteenth  to  H,  and  out  H  to 
Sixteenth.  As  we  swung  in  Sixteenth,  the  man 
leaned  forward  to  the  window  on  my  side. 

'"Look  at  that!'  he  exclaimed  excitedly. 

"As  I  turned  to  look,  the  woman  flung  her  silk 
wrap  over  my  head  and  twisted  it  tightly  about  my 
neck. 

"I  tried  to  cry  out,  but  a  hand  closed  over  my 
mouth  and  only  a  weak  gurgle  responded. 

"'Listen,  Mrs.  Clephane!'  said  the  man,  'We 
mean  you  no  harm.  Give  us  the  package  you 
have  for  the  French  Ambassador,  and  we  will  at 
once  return  you  to  your  hotel. ' 

"I'm  pretty  much  a  coward,  yet  I  managed  to 
hold  myself  together  and  not  faint,  and  to  say 
nothing.  I  didn't  care  a  straw  for  the  letter,  but 
I  didn't  fancy  being  defeated  at  that  stage  of  the 
game.  I  tried  to  think — but  thinking  is  a  bit 
difficult  under  such  circumstances.  Just  as  the 
wrap  went  over  my  head,  my  hand  happened  to  be 
on  my  hand-bag.  I  quietly  opened  it,  dropped 


The  Story  107 

the  letter  close  along  the  seat,  and  closed  the  bag. 
Here  was  a  slight  chance  to  balk  them — at  all 
events,  it  was  the  only  course  occurring  to  me  at 
the  moment. 
.  "'Has  she  fainted?'  asked  the  man. 

"'I  think  so,'  said  the  woman,  'or  she  is  scared 
to  death.' 

"Here  was  a  suggestion — and  I  took  it.  I 
remained  perfectly  quiet. 

" '  Well,'  was  his  answer,  'we're  almost  there,  and 
it's  a  lucky  chance.  No  trouble  at  all,  Seraphina.' 

"  I  had  felt  the  cab  round  several  corners;  almost 
immediately  after  the  last  it  stopped.  I'm  a  trifle 
hazy  as  to  what  they  did ;  but  finally  I  was  passed 
out  of  the  cab  like  a  corpse  and  carried  into  a 
house.  There  the  wrap  was  removed  from  my 
head;  I  blinked  uncertainly,  and  looked  around 
in  a  bewildered  fashion. 

"'Where  am  I?'  I  gasped. 

"The  woman  replied,  'You're  in  absolutely  no 
danger,  Mrs.  Clephane.  We  want  the  package 
you  have  for  the  French  Ambassador;  when  we 
have  it,  we  will  send  you  back  to  your  hotel.' 

"'What  is  to  be  done  with  the  cab?'  someone 
asked. 


io8     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

'"Nothing/  another  replied.  'The  horse  will 
find  his  way  to  his  stand;  he's  almost  there.' 

'"But  I  haven't  any  package!'  I  protested. 

"'Come,  come!'  the  woman  answered  briskly. 
'You  have  it  about  you  somewhere ;  that  was  what 
you  were  going  to  the  Embassy  to  deliver?' 

"'Who  are  you?'  I  demanded. 

"It  matters  not  who  we  are — we  want  the 
package.' 

'"The  package  is  not  with  me,'  I  remarked. 
"It's  locked  in  the  hotel  safe.' 

"'Will  you  permit  yourself  to  be  searched?' 
she  asked,  with  an  amused  smile.  I  knew  it  was 
a  threat. 

"I'm  perfectly  willing  to  submit  to  a  search 
by  you,'  I  said.  'The  quicker  you  set  about  it, 
the  quicker  I'll  be  released.  I  don't  care  for  these 
diplomatic  affairs;  they  may  be  regular  but  they 
seem  unnecessarily  dangerous.  I  was  simply  a 
substitute  anyway,  and  I  won't  substitute  again; 
though  how  you  people  discovered  it  I  don't  see.' 

"  'Because  you're  new  at  the  game,'  she  replied, 
as  we  passed  into  the  drawing-room. 

"She  closed  the  door — and  I  soon  satisfied  her 
that  the  package  was  not  concealed  about  me. 


The  Story  109 

"'I  may  go  now?'  I  inquired. 

'"I  think  so,  but  I  must  consult  the  Chief,'  she 
replied.  'I'll  be  back  in  a  minute.' 

"They  seemed  high-class  knaves  at  least;  but 
it  was  quite  evident  that  the  diplomatic  game  and 
its  secret  service  were  distinctly  not  in  my  line. 
I  want  no  more  of  them  even  to  oblige  a  friend  in 
distress.  I  hate  a  mess!" 

"I'm  very  glad  for  this  mess,"  Harleston  in 
terjected.  "Otherwise  I  should  not  have — met 
you."  . 

"And  you  are  the  only  compensation  for  the 
mess,  Mr.  Harleston!"  she  smiled. 

She  said  it  so  earnestly  Harleston  was  almost 
persuaded  that  she  meant  it — though  he  replied 
with  a  shrug  and  a  sceptical  laugh. 

"But  the  woman  was  long  in  returning,"  Mrs. 
Clephane  resumed ;  "and  after  a  while  I  put  out  the 
light,  and  going  to  the  window  raised  the  shade. 
The  cab  was  no  longer  before  the  house;  it  had 
moved  a  little  distance  to  the  left,  and  the  horse 
was  lying  down  in  the  shafts.  As  I  was  debating 
whether  to  risk  the  jump  from  the  window,  a  man 
came  down  the  street  and  halted  at  the  cab. — That 
man  was  you,  Mr.  Harleston.  The  rest  of  the  tale 


no     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

you  know  much  better  than  I — and  the  material 
portion  you  are  to  tell  me,  or  rather  to  give 
me." 

"How  did  you  know  the  man  at  the  cab  was  I? 
You  didn't  recognize  me  in  the  corridor,  this 
afternoon." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  did — but  I  waited  to  see  if  you  would 
follow  me,  or  would  go  up  to  the  other  woman  in 
black  and  roses." 

"I  never  was  in  doubt!"  Harleston  laughed. 
"  I  told  you,  on  the  telephone,  that  I  could  pick  you 
out  in  a  crowd ;  after  a  glimpse  of  you,  I  could —  "  he 
ended  with  a  gesture. 

"Still  pick  me  out,"  she  supplied.  "Well,  the 
important  thing  is  that  you  did  pick  me  out — and 
that  you're  a  gentleman.  Also  you  forget  that 
your  picture  has  been  pretty  prominent  lately, 
on  account  of  the  Du  Portal  affair;  and  besides 
you've  been  pointed  out  to  me  a  number  of  times 
during  the  last  few  years  as  something  of  a  celeb 
rity.  So,  you  see,  it  was  not  a  great  trick  to 
recognize  you  under  the  electric  lights,  even  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning. " 

Harleston  nodded.  It  was  plausible  surely. 
Moreover,  he  was  prepared  to  accept  her  story; 


The  Story  in 

thus  far  it  seemed  straightforward  and  extremely 
credible. 

"It  was  about  three  when  you  telephoned  to  me 
— where  were  you  then?"  he  asked. 

"At  the  Chateau.  They  were  kind  enough  to 
release  me  about  three  o'clock,  and  to  send  me 
back  in  a  private  car — at  least,  it  wasn't  a  taxi. 
Now,  have  you  any  other  questions?" 

"I  think  not,  for  the  present." 

"Have  I  satisfied  you  that  my  tale  is  true?" 

"I  am  satisfied,"  he  replied. 

"Then  you  will  give  me  the  letter?"  she  said 
joyfully. 

"And  what  of  the  roses?" 

"I  presented  them  to  you  last  night." 

"And  of  this  handkerchief?"  drawing  it  from  his 
pocket. 

She  took  the  bit  of  lace,  glanced  at  it,  and 
handed  it  back. 

"It  is  not  mine,"  she  replied.  "Probably  it's 
the  other  woman's."  She  held  out  her  hand, 
the  most  symmetrical  hand  Harleston  had  ever 
seen.  "My  letter,  please,  Mr.  Harleston." 

"I  no  longer  have  the  letter,"  said  Har 
leston. 


H2     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Then  why  did  you — "  she  exclaimed ;  "but  you 
can  lay  your  hand  on  it?" 

"I  can  lay  my  hand  on  it,"  he  smiled — "when 
ever  you  convince  me,  or  I  ascertain,  that  the 
letter  does  not  concern  directly  or  indirectly 
the  diplomatic  affairs  of  the  United  States.  You 
forget  that  was  the  concluding  stipulation,  Mrs. 
Clephane.  Mean  wile  the  letter  will  not,  you  may 
feel  assured,  fall  into  the  possession  of  the  party 
who  attempted  to  steal  it  from  you." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  she  asked,  leaning 
forward.  "Who  beside  France  are  the  parties 
concerned?" 

"It  means  that  some  nation  is  ready  to  take 
desperate  chances  to  prevent  your  letter  from 
reaching  the  French  Ambassador.  What  actuates 
it,  whether  to  learn  its  contents  or  to  prevent  its 
present  delivery,  I  naturally  do  not  know. "  Then 
he  laughed.  "Would  it  interest  you  very  much 
to  learn,  Mrs.  Clephane,  that  I  was  visited  last 
night  by  three  men,  who  tried,  at  the  point  of  the 
revolver,  to  force  the  letter  from  me?" 

"You  surely  don't  mean  it!"  she  exclaimed. 

And  with  this  exclamation  the  last  doubt  in 
Harleston's  mind  of  Mrs.  Clephane's  having  aught 


The  Story  113 

to  do  with  the  night  attack  vanished — and  having 
acquitted  her  in  that  respect,  there  was  scarcely 
any  question  as  to  the  sincerity  and  truth  of  her 
tale. 

As  it  has  been  remarked  previously,  Mrs. 
Clephane  was  very  good  to  look  at — and  what 
is  more  to  the  point  with  Harleston,  she  looked 
back. 

"I  had  all  sorts  of  adventures,  beginning  with 
the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse,  three  crushed  roses, 
a  bit  of  lace,  and  a  letter,"  he  laughed;  "and  the 
adventures  haven't  yet  ended,  and  they  grow 
more  interesting  as  they  progress. " 

"They  didn't  get  the  letter?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"They  got  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  getting 
nothing,"  he  replied. 

"Where  is  the  letter  now,  Mr.  Harleston — is  it 
safe  from  them?" 

There  was  a  note  of  concern  in  her  voice,  and  it 
puzzled  him.  What  else  did  she  know — or  didn't 
she  know  anything?  Was  it  only  his  habit  in 
diplomatic  affairs  to  doubt  everything  that  was 
not  undoubtable. 

"The  letter,"  he  replied,  "is  with  the  expert  of 
the  State  Department  for  translation." 


H4     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"What  language  is  it  in?"  she  demanded. 

"Cipher  language — and  a  particularly  diffi 
cult  cipher  it  is.  Can  you  help  us  out,  Mrs. 
Clephane?" 

"I  can't,  Mr.  Harleston;  I  don't  know  anything 
about  ciphers.  And  I  told  you  the  whole  truth 
when  I  said  that  I  neither  knew  what  the  envelope 
contained  nor  its  purpose.  What  disturbs  me  is 
how  to  explain  to  the  French  Ambassador  the  loss 
of  the  letter. " 

"Tell  him  the  exact  truth,"  said  Harleston. 
"  It  would  have  been  better  possibly  had  you  told 
him  this  morning. " 

"I  thought  you  would  return  the  letter  to  me, " 
she  replied. 

"I  likely  should,  had  I  seen  you  before  I  turned 
it  over  to  the  State  Department.  Now  that  it 
has  passed  out  of  my  hands,  it  is  a  matter  for  the 
Secretary  to  decide." 

"But  he  will  be  advised  by  you ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"Advised,  yes, — dominated,  no.  The  only 
chance  of  the  letter  being  returned  to  you,  is  that 
it  does  not  affect  this  government. " 

"Diplomacy  then  is  willing  to  stoop  to  any 
crime  or  to  profit  by  any  wrong?"  she  mocked. 


The  Story  115 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  admit  the  accusation. 
Everything  is  fair  in  love  and  war,  you  know — 
and  diplomacy  is  only  a  species  of  war. " 

"Have  I  no  redress  for  the  outrage  upon  me,  nor 
for  the  loss  of  the  letter  by  reason  of  that  out 
rage?" 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  find  the  wheels  of  justice 
very  slow-moving — when  they  have  to  do  with 
affairs  diplomatic." 

"But  the  letter,  sir?" 

"You  must  remember,  Mrs.  Clephane,  that  I 
found  the  letter  in  an  abandoned  cab." 

"And  now  that  you  know  to  whom  it  belongs," 
she  flashed,  "you  will  not  return  it?" 

"Because  I  can't!  Which  brings  us  back  to 
where  we  started — and  to  dinner. " 

"I  will  not  dine  with  you!" 

"Then  let  me  dine  with  you!" 

"No!" 

"Fix  it  any  way  you  wish,  only  so  that  we  dine 
together,"  he  persisted.  "I've  the  cosiest  little 
table  reserved  for  us,  and " 

"Mr.  Harleston, "  the  page  was  calling.  "Mr. 
Harles " 

Harleston  turned,  and  the  boy  saw  him. 


n6     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Telephone,  sir,"  said  he,  giving  Harleston  the 
call  slip. 

"Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment,  Mrs.  Cle- 
phane?"  Harleston  asked,  and  hurried  out — con 
scious  all  the  while  that  Madeline  Spencer  and  her 
companion  were  watching  him. 

"This  is  Police  Headquarters,  Mr.  Harleston," 
came  the  voice  over  the  wire.  "Major  Ranleigh 
wants  to  know  if  you  will  meet  him  at  his  office 
at  ten  o'clock  tonight.  The  Major  was  called  out 
suddenly  or  he  would  have  telephoned  you,  him 
self!" 

"I'll  be  on  hand,"  Harleston  replied,  hungup 
the  receiver,  and  hurried  back. 

As  he  entered  the  red-room,  he  shot  a  covert 
glance  toward  the  place  where  Mrs.  Spencer  and 
her  companion  had  been  sitting. 

They  were  gone ! 

"Yes!  Yes!"  said  he  under  his  breath,  and 
turned  toward  the  corner  where  he  had  left  Mrs. 
Clephane. 

Mrs.  Clephane  was  gone. 


IX 


DECOYED 

HARLESTON  faced  about  and  surveyed  the  entire 
room.  Then  not  content  with  surveying,  he 
deliberately  walked  through  it,  and  satisfied  him 
self  that  Mrs.  Clephane  was  not  there — nor 
Madeline  Spencer,  nor  her  bald-headed  com 
panion. 

He  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  corridor,  and 
up  and  down  again.  They  were  not  there. 

He  even  walked  through  the  dining-rooms. 

Nothing ! 

"Hum!"  said  he,  at  length — and  returned  to 
the  red-room,  and  to  his  chair.  It  was  quite 
possible  that  Mrs.  Clephane  would  be  back  in 
a  moment — yet  somehow  he  doubted. 

He  waited  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  she  did 
not  come.  He  made  another  tour  of  Peacock 
Alley,  the  lobby,  the  dining-rooms,  and  back  to 
the  red-room. 

117 


n8     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Nothing ! 

He  looked  at  his  watch — it  was  half-after-seven 
o'clock.  He  would  wait  fifteen  minutes  longer. 
Then,  if  she  had  not  come,  he  would  go  about  his 
business — which,  at  present,  was  to  dine. 

He  sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  looking  down 
the  room  and  at  those  who  entered. 

The  fifteen  minutes  passed.  He  put  up  his 
watch  and  arose;  the  wait  was  ended. 

He  crossed  the  corridor  to  the  dining-room. 

"The  table  in  yonder  corner,  Philippe, "  he  said, 
to  the  bowing  head- waiter. 

"One,  Monsieur  Harleston?"  the  man  replied; 
and  himself  escorted  him  over  and  placed  him,  and 
took  his  order  for  dinner.  From  which  facts  it 
can  be  inferred  that  Harleston  was  something 
of  a  personage  at  the  big  caravansary. 

The  clams  had  just  been  placed  before  him,  and 
he  was  dipping  the  first  one  in  the  cocktail,  when 
Madeline  Spencer  and  the  bald-headed  man  entered 
and  passed  to  a  table — reserved  for  them — at  the 
far  side  of  the  room.  Harleston  knew  that  she 
saw  him,  though  apparently  she  had  not  glanced 
his  way.  Here  was  another  move  in  the  game ;  but 
what  the  game,  and  what  the  immediate  object? 


Decoyed  119 

His  waiter  whisked  away  the  clam  cocktail  and 
put  down  the  clear  turtle. 

As  Harleston  took  up  his  spoon,  a  page  spoke 
a  word  to  Philippe,  who  motioned  him  to  Harles 
ton 's  corner.  The  next  instant  the  boy  was 
there,  a  letter  on  the  extended  salver — then  he 
faded  away. 

Harleston  put  aside  the  letter  until  he  had 
finished  his  soup;  then  he  picked  it  up  and  turned 
it  over.  It  was  a  hotel  envelope,  and  addressed 
simply:  "Mr.  Harleston,"  in  a  woman's  hand 
writing — full  and  free,  and,  unusual  to  relate, 
quite  legible.  He  ran  his  knife  under  the  flap 
and  drew  out  the  letter.  It  was  in  the  same  hand 
that  wrote  the  address. 

"DEAR  MR.  HARLESTON: 

' '  I've  just  seen  someone  whom  I  wish  to  avoid,  so 
won't  you  be  good  enough  to  dine  with  me  in  my 
apartment.  It's  No.  972,  and  cosy  and  quiet — and 
please  come  at  once.  I'm  waiting  for  you — with 
an  explanation  for  my  disappearance. 

"EDITH  CLEPHANE." 

" Hum! "  said  Harleston,  and  drummed  thought 
fully  on  the  table.  Then  he  arose,  said  a  word  to 


I2O     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Philippe  as  he  passed,  and  went  out  to  the  ele 
vator. 

He  got  off  at  the  ninth  floor  and  walked  down 
the  corridor  to  No.  972.  It  was  a  corner  and 
overlooked  Pennsylvania  Avenue  and  Fourteenth 
Street.  He  tapped  lightly  on  the  door;  almost 
immediately  it  was  opened  by  a  maid — a  very 
pretty  maid,  he  noticed — who,  without  waiting  for 
him  to  speak,  addressed  him  as  Monsieur  Harles- 
ton,  and  told  him  that  Madame  was  expecting  him. 

Harleston  handed  the  maid  his  hat,  stick, -and 
gloves,  and  crossed  the  private  hall  into  the  draw 
ing-room. 

As  he  passed  the  doorway,  a  heavy  silk  hand 
kerchief  was  flung  around  his  neck  from  behind, 
and  instantly  tightened  over  his  larynx;  at  the 
same  time  his  arms  were  pinioned  to  his  side. 
He  could  neither  make  a  sound  nor  raise  a  hand. 
He  was  being  garroted.  At  his  first  struggle  the 
garrote  was  twisted;  it  was  be  quiet  or  be  stran 
gled.  And,  queer  as  it  may  seem,  his  first  thought 
was  of  the  garroters  of  India  and  the  instant 
helplessness  of  their  victims.  In  fact,  so  immedi 
ate  was  his  helplessness,  that  it  sapped  all  will  to 
be  otherwise  than  quiescent. 


Decoyed  121 

"Two  can  play  at  this  game,  Mr.  Harleston," 
said  a  familiar  voice,  and  Crenshaw  stepped  out 
in  front.  "  I'm  in  a  better  humour  now,  and  more 
my  natural  self;  I  was  somewhat  peeved  in  the 
Collingwood — due  to  late  hours,  I  think.  By 
the  way,  it  isn't  an  especially  pleasant  game  for 
the  fellow  who  is  it,  Mr.  Harleston?  I'll  take  your 
answer  for  granted — or  we'll  let  my  distinguished 
colleague  answer  for  you — you  know  Mr.  Sparrow, 
sir  ? "  as  the  man  with  the  garrote  put  his  head  over 
Harleston's  shoulder.  "Answer  for  Mr.  Harles 
ton,  will  you,  Sparrow?" 

"No,  it  is  not,  Mr.  Crenshaw,"  said  Sparrow. 

"  I  neglected  to  ask  if  you're  not  surprised  to  see 
me,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"I  am  indeed,"  said  Sparrow. 

"I  regret  that  it  was  inconvenient  for  me  to 
remain  longer  in  your  apartment,  Mr.  Harleston — 
and  so  I  exchanged  places  with  your  detective," 
Crenshaw  explained. 

"I'm  quite  content,  Mr.  Crenshaw,"  Sparrow 
replied. 

"Yes,  certainly,  and  thank  you,  Mr.  Harles 
ton,"  Crenshaw  smiled.  "And  now,  with  your 
permission,  sir,  we  shall  inspect  the  contents 


122     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

of  your  pockets,  to  the  end  that  we  may  find  a 
certain  letter  that  you  wot  of — also  ourselves." 

After  the  first  warning  twist,  the  garrote  had 
been  relaxed  just  enough  to  permit  Harleston 
breath  sufficient  for  life,  yet  not  sufficient  for  an 
outcry;  moreover,  he  knew  that  at  the  first  mur 
mur  of  a  yell  the  wrist  behind  him  would  turn  and 
he  would  be  throttled  into  unconsciousness. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  be  quiet  and  as 
complaisant  as  his  captors  wished,  and  await 
developments.  And  the  irony  of  such  a  situa 
tion — happening  in  the  most  crowded  and  most 
popular  hotel  in  the  Capital,  with  hundreds  of 
guests  at  hand,  and  scores  of  servants  poised 
to  obey  one's  slightest  nod — struck  him  with  all 
the  force  of  its  supreme  absurdity.  It  was  but 
another  proof  of  the  proposition  that  one  is  never 
so  alone  as  in  the  midst  of  a  throng. 

He  smiled — somewhat  chillily,  it  must  be 
admitted — and  whispered,  his  speaking  voice 
being  shut  off  by  the  garrote. 

"The  quicker  you  look,  the  sooner  I  shall,  I 
hope,  be  released  from  this  rather  uncomfortable 
position." 

"Good    eye!"    said    Crenshaw.       "You're   a 


Decoyed  123 

reasonable  man,  Mr.  Harleston,  it's  a  pleasure  to 
do  business  with  you." 

"Proceed!"  Harleston  whispered.  "I  haven't 
the  letter  with  me,  as  you  should  know.  Do  I  look 
so  much  like  a  novice?  Furthermore,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  I  told  you  that  I  was  going  direct  to  the 
State  Department  to  deliver  the  letter  for  trans 
lation,  so  how  could  I  have  it  now?" 

"We're  not  debating,  we're  searching,"  Cren- 
shaw  sneered;  "though  it  may  occur  to  you  that  a 
copy  is  as  easy  of  translation  as  the  original. 
However,  we  will  proceed  with  the  inspection — the 
proof  of  the  caviare  is  in  the  roe  of  the  sturgeon." 

"Then  I  pray  you  open  the  fish  at  once,"  said 
Harleston.  "I  can't  assist  you  in  my  present 
attitude,  so  get  along,  Mr.  Crenshaw,  if  you 
please.  You  interrupted  my  dinner — I  was  just 
at  the  soup;  and  you  may  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  I'm  a  bit  hungry." 

"With  your  permission,"  Crenshaw  replied,  pro 
ceeding  to  go  through  Harleston's  pockets,  and  find 
ing  nothing  but  the  usual — which  he  replaced. 

He  came  last  to  the  breast-pocket  of  the  coat; 
in  it  were  the  wallet  and  one  letter — the  letter 
that  had  brought  Harleston  here. 


124     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"It  caught  you!"  Crenshaw  smiled.  "There's 
no  bait  like  a  pretty  woman!" 

Harleston  raised  his  eyebrows  and  shrugged  his 
answer. 

"And  a  rather  neat  trap,  wasn't  it—we're  very 
much  pleased  with  it." 

"You'll  not  be  pleased  with  what  it  produces," 
Harleston  smiled. 

"It  has  produced  you,"  the  other  mocked; 
"that's  quite  some  production,  don't  you  think? 
And  now,  as  this  letter  has  served  its  purpose,  I'll 
take  the  liberty  of  destroying  it,"  tearing  it  into 
bits  and  putting  the  bits  in  his  pockets,  "lest  one 
of  us  be  liable  for  forgery.  Now  for  the  pocket- 
book;  you  found  something  in  mine,  you  may 
remember,  Mr.  Harleston." 

Harleston  gave  a  faint  chuckle.  They  would 
find  nothing  in  his  pocket-book  but  some 
visiting  and  membership  cards,  a  couple  of 
addresses  and  a  few  yellow-backs  and  silver 
certificates. 

"The  letter  doesn't  seem  to  be  there — which  I 
much  regret,  but  these  visiting  cards  may  be  use 
ful  in  our  business;  with  your  permission  I'll  take 
them.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Harleston." 


Decoyed  125 

He  folded  the  book  and  returned  it  to  Harles- 
ton's  pocket. 

"I  might  have  looked  in  your  shoes,  or  done 
something  disagreeable — I  believe  I  even  promised 
to  smash  your  face  when  I  got  the  opportunity — 
but  I'm  better  disposed  now.  I  shall  return  good 
for  evil;  instead  of  tying  you  up  as  you  did  me,  I'll 
release  you  from  your  bonds  if  you  give  me  your 
word  to  remain  quiet  in  this  room  until  tomorrow 
morning  at  eight,  and  not  to  disclose  to  anyone, 
before  that  hour,  what  has  occurred  here." 

"After  that?"  said  Harleston. 

"You  shall  be  at  liberty  to  depart  and  to  tell." 

"And  if  I  do  not  give  my  word?" 

"Then,"  said  Crenshaw  pleasantly,  "we  shall 
be  obliged  to  bind  you  and  gag  you  and  leave  you 
to  be  discovered  by  the  maid — which,  we  shall 
carefully  provide,  will  not  be  before  eight  to 
morrow  morning." 

"You  leave  small  choice,"  Harleston  observed. 

"Just  the  choice  between  comfort  and  dis 
comfort!"  Crenshaw  laughed.  "Which  shall  it 
be,  sir?" 

Harleston  had  been  shifting  slowly  from  one  foot 
to  the  other,  feeling  behind  him  for  the  man  with 


126     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  garrote.  He  had  him  located  now  and  the 
precise  position  where  he  was  standing — one  of 
his  own  legs  was  touching  Sparrow's. 

At  the  instant  Crenshaw  had  finished  his 
question,  Harleston  suddenly  kicked  backwards, 
landing  with  all  the  force  of  his  sharp  heel  full  on 
Sparrow's  shin. 

Instantly  the  garrote  loosened;  and  Harles 
ton,  with  a  wild  yell,  sprang  forward  and  swung 
straight  at  the  point  of  Crenshaw's  jaw. 

Crenshaw  dodged  it — and  the  two  men  grappled 
and  went  down,  fighting  furiously;  Harleston  let 
ting  out  shouts  all  the  while,  and  even  managing 
to  overturn  a  table,  which  fell  with  a  terrific 
smash  of  broken  glass  and  bric-a-brac,  to  attract 
attention  and  lead  to  an  investigation. 

He  had  not  much  trouble  in  mastering  Cren 
shaw;  but  Sparrow,  when  he  was  done  spinning 
around  on  one  foot  from  the  agonizing  pain  of  the 
kick  on  the  shin,  would  be  another  matter;  the  two 
men  and  the  woman  could  overpower  him,  unless 
assistance  came  quickly.  And  to  that  end  he 
raised  all  the  uproar  possible  for  the  few  seconds 
that  Sparrow  spun  and  the  woman  stared. 

Just  as  Sparrow  hobbled  to  Crenshaw's  aid, 


Decoyed  127 

Harleston  landed  a  short  arm  blow  on  the  latter's 
ear  and  sprang  up,  avoided  the  former's  rush  and 
made  for  the  hall-way. 

At  the  same  moment  came  a  loud  pounding  on 
the  corridor  door.  The  noise  had  been  effective. 

In  a  bound,  Harleston  reached  the  door;  it 
should,  as  he  knew,  open  from  within  by  a  turn  of 
the  knob.  But  it  was  double-locked  on  the  in 
side  and  the  key  was  missing. 

He  whirled — just  in  time  to  see  the  last  of  the 
mixed  trio  disappear  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
the  door  snap  shut  behind  them. 

He  sped  across  and  flung  himself  against  it — 
it  was  locked. 

Meanwhile  the  pounding  on  the  corridor  door 
went  on. 

"Try  another  door!"  Harleston  shouted. 

But  by  reason  of  the  heavy  door  and  the  din, 
some  time  elapsed  before  he  could  attract  the 
attention  of  those  in  the  corridor  and  make  him 
self  understood.  Then  more  time  was  consumed 
in  getting  the  floor-maid  with  the  pass-key  to  the 
room  adjoining  the  drawing-room  of  the  suite. 

By  that  time,  the  manager  of  the  hotel  had  come 
up  and  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  relief ;  and  he 


128     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

was  not  in  the  best  of  temper  when  he  entered 
and  saw  the  debris  of  the  bric-a-brac  and  the 
table. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of — "  he  demanded — 
then  he  recognized  Harleston  and  stopped — "I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Harleston!  I  didn't  know 
that  you  were  here,  sir;  this  apartment  was  oc 
cupied  by " 

"Two  men  and  a  woman,"  Harleston  supplied. 
"Well,  it's  been  vacated  by  them  in  deference  to 
me." 

"I  don't  understand!"  said  the  manager. 

"  If  you  will  have  the  baggage,  which,  I  imagine, 
is  in  the  bedrooms,  examined,  and  give  me  your 
private  ear  for  a  moment,  I'll  endeavour  to  explain 
as  much  as  I  know. " 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Harleston,"  the  man  replied; 
and,  directing  the  others  to  examine  the  baggage, 
he  closed  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

"First  tell  me  who  occupied  this  suite,  when 
it  was  taken,  and  when  they  came,"  said  Har 
leston. 

"One  moment,"  said  the  manager,  and  picking 
up  the  telephone  he  called  the  office.  "It  was, 
the  office  says,  occupied  by  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


Decoyed  129 

Davidson  of  New  York  City,  who  took  it  this 
afternoon  about  five  o'clock.  They  had  made 
no  reservation  for  it. " 

"Now  as  to  their  baggage." 

The  manager  bowed  and  went  out — to  return 
almost  instantly,  a  puzzled  expression  on  his  face. 

"Two  new  and  cheap  suit  cases,  each  containing 
a  couple  of  bricks  and  some  waste  paper,"  he 
reported. 

"Yes,"  nodded  Harleston,  "I  thought  as  much. 
Mr.  Banks,  you  will  confer  a  favour  on  me,  and 
possibly  on  the  government,  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  let  this  affair  pass  unnoticed,  at  least  for 
the  time.  I'll  pay  for  the  broken  table  and  its 
contents,  and  a  proper  charge  for  the  rooms 
for  the  few  hours  they've  been  occupied.  I  over 
turned  the  table.  As  for  the  rest — how  I  came  to 
be  here,  and  what  became  of  the  occupants,  and 
why  the  furniture  was  smashed,  and  why  I  have  a 
slight  contusion  in  my  cheek,  and  anything  else 
occurring  to  the  management  as  requiring  explana 
tion,  just  forget  it,  please." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"Very  good!"  said  Harleston.  "Now  wait  one 
moment." 

0 


130     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

He  went  to  the  telephone  and  asked  for  Mrs. 
Clephane's  apartment. 

Her  maid  answered — with  the  information  that 
Mrs.  Clephane  had  been  out  since  five  o'clock  and 
had  not  yet  returned. 

Harleston  thanked  her,  hung  up  the  receiver, 
and  turned  to  Banks. 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Clephane, 
who  is  a  guest  of  the  hotel,  has  disappeared.  I 
was  talking  to  her  in  the  red-room  at  about  6  30, 
when  I  was  called  to  the  telephone.  On  my  return, 
after  a  brief  absence,  she  was  gone,  and  a  frequent 
and  thorough  search  on  the  first  floor  did  not  dis 
close  her.  She  was  to  have  dined  with  me  at 
seven- thirty.  She  did  not  keep  the  engagement.  I 
dined  alone,  and  had  just  begun  the  meal  when  a  let 
ter  was  handed  to  me  asking  that  I  dine  with  her  in 
her  apartment,  No.  972.  I  came  here  at  once — and 
was  held  up  by  two  men  and  a  woman,  who  sought 
to  obtain  something  that  they  imagined  was  in  my 
possession.  It  wasn't,  however,  and  we  fought; 
and  I  raised  sufficient  disturbance  to  bring  you. 
You  see,  I  have  told  you  something  of  the  affair. 
The  note  was  a  forgery.  This  isn't  Mrs.  Cle 
phane's  apartment,  and  her  maid  has  just  told  me 


Decoyed  131 

that  her  mistress  has  not  been  in  her  apartment 
since  five  o'clock — which  was  the  time  she  met  me. 
I  am  persuaded  that  she  is  a  prisoner,  and  likely 
in  this  hotel — held  so  to  prevent  her  disclosing  a 
certain  matter  to  a  certain  high  official.  What 
I  want  is  for  you  to  make  every  effort  to  determine 
whether  she  is  in  this  house." 

"We'll  do  it,  Mr.  Harleston, "  the  manager 
acquiesced  instantly.  "Come  down  to  the  office 
and  we'll  go  over  the  guest  diagram,  while  I  have 
every  unoccupied  room  looked  into.  In  fact,  sir, 
we'll  do  anything  short  of  burglaring  our  guests." 

"I'll  be  right  down,"  Harleston  said;  "after 
I've  bathed  my  face  and  straightened  up  a  bit." 

The  contusion  on  his  cheek  was  not  particularly 
noticeable;  it  might  be  worse  in  the  morning;  his 
collar  was  a  trifle  crushed  and  his  hair  was  awry; 
on  the  whole,  he  had  come  out  of  the  fight  very 
well. 

He  took  up  his  stick  and  gloves,  put  on  his  hat 
so  as  to  shade,  as  far  as  possible,  the  cheek-bone, 
and  went  down  to  the  private  office. 

There  was,  of  course,  the  chance  that  Mrs. 
Clephane  had  lured  him  into  the  trap,  and  had 
herself  written  the  decoy  note;  but  he  did  not 


132     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

believe  her  guilty.  Even  though  Crenshaw  had 
adroitly  implicated  her,  he  was  not  influenced. 
Indeed,  he  was  convinced  of  just  the  reverse: — 
that  she  was  honest  and  sincere  and  inexperienced, 
and  that  she  had  told  him  the  true  story  of  the 
letter  and  its  loss.  At  least  he  was  acting  on  that 
theory,  and  was  prepared  to  see  it  through.  May 
be  he  was  a  fool  to  believe  those  brown  eyes  and 
that  soft  voice  and  those  charming  ways;  if  so, 
he  preferred  to  be  a  fool  for  a  little  while,  to, 
if  not,  being  a  fool  to  her  forever.  He  had,  in  his 
time,  encountered  many  women  with  beautiful 
faces  and  compelling  eyes  and  alluring  voices  and 
charming  ways,  but  with  none  had  they  been  so 
blended  as  in  Mrs.  Clephane. 

He  did  not  know  a  thing  as  to  her  history — 
he  did  not  even  know  whether  she  was  married, 
a  widow,  or  a  divorcee.  Whatever  she  was,  he 
was  willing  to  accept  her  as  genuine — until  she 
was  proven  otherwise. 

All  of  which  would  indicate  that  she  had  made 
something  of  an  impression  on  Harleston — who 
was  neither  by  nature  nor  by  experience  impres 
sible,  and,  in  the  diplomatic  game,  had  about  as 
much  sentiment  as  a  granite  crag.  In  fact,  with 


Decoyed  133 

Harleston  every  woman  who  appeared  in  the 
diplomatic  game  lay  under  instant  and  heavy 
suspicion. 

Mrs.  Clephane  was  the  first  exception. 


X 

SKIRMISHING 

ON  the  slender  chance  of  finding  Mrs.  Cle- 
phane,  Harleston  made  another  tour  of  the  rooms 
and  corridor  on  the  first  floor. 

'It  was  without  avail — save  that  he  noticed 
'  Madeline  Spencer  and  her  escort  were  still  at  din 
ner.  They  did  not  see  him — and  he  was  very  well 
content.  Later  he  would  want  a  word  with  them — • 
particularly  with  her;  and  he  preferred  to  meet 
her  alone.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  and 
very  alluring,  and  the  time  was,  and  not  so  long 
ago,  when  he  would  have  gone  far  out  of  his  way 
to  meet  her;  but  another  face — and  business — 
occupied  him  at  present.  Moreover,  the  business 
had  to  do  with  Mrs.  Spencer,  and  that  shortly. 
Therefore  he  was  content  to  be  patient.  Mrs. 
Clephane  first. 

So  he  went  on  to  the  private  qflfice  and  the 
manager. 

134 


Skirmishing  135 

"I've  just  taken  another  look  over  this  floor,'* 
he  said;  "Mrs.  Clephane  is  not  to  be  seen." 

"We  paged  her,  also,"  returned  Banks;  "and 
we've  had  every  vacant  room  in  the  house  exam 
ined  without  result.  Here's  the  diagram ;  let  us  go 
over  it,  perhaps  we  can  get  a  lead  from  it.  About 
half  of  the  guests  are  personally  known  to  the 
hotel;  they  are  either  permanent  guests  or  have 
been  coming  here  for  a  long  time.  However,  pick 
out  any  that  you  suspect  and  we'll  try  to  find  a 
way  to  get  into  their  rooms.  We  are  always 
at  the  service  of  the  government,  particularly  the 
State  Department." 

Harleston  ran  his  eyes  over  the  diagram,  search 
ing  for  Madeline  Spencer.  It  was  barely  possible 
that  she  was  registered  under  one  of  her  own  names. 
He  found  it  at  last — or  thought  he  had :  No.  717 : — 
Madame  Cuthbert  and  maid. 

"What  do  you  know  of  her?"  he  asked,  indicat 
ing  No.  717. 

"Nothing  whatever,  except  that  she  seems  to 
have  plenty  of  money,  and  looks  the  lady." 

"When  did  she  come?" 

"Three  days  ago." 

"What  is  No.  717?" 


136     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Two  bedrooms,  a  parlour,  and  a  bath." 

"I  should  like  to  know  if  she  has  had  callers, 
and  who  they  are ;  also,  if  the  house  detective  knows 
anything  of  her  movements?" 

"One  moment,  sir,"  said  Banks 

"And  you  might  inquire  also,"  Harleston 
added,  "as  to  the  bald-headed  man  who  is  her 
companion  this  evening?" 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Banks,  and  went  out. 

"I  tell  you  there  are  quite  too  many  women  in 
this  affair,"  Harleston  muttered — and  went  back 
to  inspecting  the  chart. 

And  the  more  he  inspected,  the  more  hopeless 
grew  his  task.  If  Mrs.  Clephane  had  been  lured 
to  one  of  the  rooms,  it  would  be  next  to  impossible 
to  find  her.  There  were  a  hundred  well-dressed 
and  quiet-mannered  guests  who  seemed  beyond 
suspicion;  and  yet  it  was  in  the  room  of  one  of 
these  unobtrusive  guests,  who  had  never  so  much 
as  looked  at  Mrs.  Spencer,  that  Mrs.  Clephane 
was  held  prisoner.  There  was  small  hope — none, 
indeed — that  a  search  of  Madeline  Spencer's 
apartment  would  yield  even  a  clue.  She  was  not 
such  a  bungler;  though  that  she  was  the  directing 
spirit  in  the  entire  affair  he  had  not  the  least 


Skirmishing  137 

doubt.  Her  photograph  fixed  the  matter  on  her; 
and  while  he  was  quite  sure  she  was  not  aware 
of  the  photograph,  yet  she  was  aware  of  the  letter, 
had  made  a  desperate  effort  to  prevent  its  delivery, 
and  now  was  making  a  final  effort  to  prevent  Mrs. 
Clephane  from  advising  the  French  Ambassador 
of  its  loss. 

As  to  him,  Mrs.  Spencer  was  not  concerned. 
His  possession  of  the  letter,  under  such  circum 
stances,  effectually  closed  his  mouth;  if  he  hap 
pened  to  know  for  whom  the  letter  was  intended, 
his  mouth  was  closed  all  the  tighter.  It  was  a  rule 
of  the  diplomatic  game  never  to  reveal,  even  to  an 
ally,  what  you  know;  tomorrow  the  ally  may  be 
the  enemy.  Harleston  might  yield  the  letter  to 
superior  force  or  to  trickery,  but  he  would  never 
babble  of  it. 

The  door  opened  to  admit  Banks. 

"The  detective  has  nothing  whatever  as  to 
Madame  Cuthbert,"  he  explained.  "He  says 
she  is  apparently  a  lady,  and  nothing  has  occurred 
to  bring  her  under  his  notice.  For  the  same 
reason,  no  list  of  her  callers  has  been  made — 
though  the  desk  thinks  that  they  have  been 
comparatively  few.  The  man  with  whom  she 


138     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

dined  this  evening  is  a  Mr.  Rufus  Martin.  He 
has  been  with  her  several  times.  He  is  a  guest  of 
the  hotel — room  No.  410." 

"Can  you  have  her  apartment  and  Martin's 
looked  over  without  exciting  suspicion?" 

"I  think  we  can  manage  it,"  Banks  responded. 
"Indeed,  I  think  we  can  manage  to  have  all  the 
rooms  inspected ;  I  have  already  told  the  detective 
what  we  suspect,  and  he  has  put  on  an  employee's 
uniform  and  with  a  basket  of  electric  bulbs  is  now 
testing  the  lights  in  every  occupied  room.  The 
moment  he  finds  Mrs.  Clephane,  or  anything 
that  points  to  her,  he  will  advise  us." 

"Good!"  said  Harleston.  "Meanwhile,  I'll 
have  another  look  in  Peacock  Alley." 

He  was  aware  that  he  was  acting  on  a  pure 
hunch.  He  realized  that  his  theory  of  Mrs.  Cle- 
phane's  imprisonment  in  the  house  was  most 
inconsistent  with  the  facts.  Why  did  they  release 
her  last  night,  if  they  were  fearful  of  her  com 
municating  to  the  French  Ambassador  the  loss  of 
the  letter?  And  why  should  they  take  her  again 
this  evening?  It  was  all  unreasonable;  yet  reason 
does  not  prevail  against  a  hunch — even  to  a  reason 
ing  man,  who  is  also  a  diplomat. 


Skirmishing  139 

He  sauntered  along  the  gay  corridor  bowing  to 
those  he  knew.  As  he  faced  about  to  return,  he 
saw  Madeline  Spencer,  alone,  bearing  down  upon 
him. 

The  moment  their  eyes  met,  she  signalled  a  glad 
smile  and  advanced  with  hands  extended. 

"Why,  Guy!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  a  sur 
prise  this  is!" 

"And  what  a  charming  pleasure  to  me,  Made 
line,  "  he  added,  taking  both  her  hands  and  holding 
them.  "I  thought  you  were  in  Paris;  indeed,  I 
thought  you  would  never  leave  the  City  of  Boule 
vards. " 

"So  did  I,  yet  here  I  am;  yet  not  for  long,  I 
trust,  Guy,  not  for  long." 

"America's  misfortune,"  he  whispered. 

"Or  fortune!"  she  laughed.  "It's  merely  a 
matter  of  viewpoint.  To  those  who  have  know 
ledge  of  the  comparatively  recent  past,  Madeline 
Spencer  may  be  a  persona  non.  However — " 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shapely  shoulders  and  an  indif 
ferent  lift  of  her  fine  hands.  "  Won't  you  sit  down, 
Mr.  Harleston ;  that  is,  if  you're  not  afraid  for  your 
reputation.  I  assume  that  here  you  have  a 
reputation  to  protect." 


140     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'm  quite  sure  that  my  reputation,  whatever 
it  be,  won't  suffer  by  what  you  intimate!"  he 
smiled,  and  handed  her  into  a  chair. 

"You  were  much  surprised  to  see  me,  n'est-ce 
pas?"  she  asked  low,  leaning  close. 

"Much  more  than  much,"  he  replied  con 
fidentially. 

"Honest?"  she  asked,  still  low  and  close. 

"Much  more  than  honest,"  he  answered. 
"  It's  been  a  long  time  since  we  met. " 

"Three  months!" 

"Three  months  is  much  more  than  long — some 
times.  " 

She  gave  him  an  amused  smile. 

"I  was  thinking  of  you  only  last  night,"  he 
volunteered. 

"What  suggested  me?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  your  proximity, " 
he  replied  easily  and  instantly. 

"Wireless,"  she  laughed,  "or  community  of 
interests?" 

"I  don't  know — the  impression  was  vivid 
enough,  while  it  lasted,  for  you  to  have  been  in 
the  room. " 

"Maybe  I  was — in  spirit." 


Skirmishing  141 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  he  replied.  "How  long  have 
you  been  in  Washington,  Madeline?" 

"You  should  have  felt  my  proximity  as  soon  as 
I  arrived, "  she  responded. 

"I  felt  it  nearing  when  you  left  Paris — and 
growing  closer  as  time  went  on.  You  see,  I  have  a 
remarkable  intuition  as — to  you." 

"Charming!"  she  trilled.  "Why  not  get  a 
penchant  for  me,  as  well?" 

"Maybe  I  have — and  don't  venture  to  declare 
myself. " 

' '  You ! ' '  she  mocked. 

"Meaning  that  I  can't  get  a  penchant,  or  that 
I  am  not  afraid  to  declare?" 

' '  Both ! ' '  she  laughed.  ' '  Now  quit  talking  non 
sense  and  tell  me  about  yourself.  What  have 
you  been  doing,  and  what  are  you  doing?" 

"At  the  very  profitable  and  busy  occupation  of 
killing  time, "  he  replied. 

"Of  course,  but  what  else?" 

"Nothing!" 

"What,  for  instance,  were  you  doing  last  night  ? " 

"Last  night?  I  dined  at  the  Club,  played  auc 
tion,  and  went  home  at  a  seemly  hour. " 

"Home?    Where  is  that?" 


142     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"TheCollingwood." 

"And  what  adventure  befell  you  on  the  way — 
if  any?" 

"Adventure ?  I  haven't  had  an  adventure  since 
I  left  the  Continent. " 

"Sure?" 

"Perfectly.  I  wish  I  had — to  vary  the  mono 
tony.  " 

She  traced  a  diagram  on  the  rug  with  the  tip  of 
her  slipper. 

"It  depends  on  what  you  regard  as  an  adven 
ture,"  she  smiled.  "I  should  think  the  episode 
of  the  cab,  with  what  followed  at  your  apartment, 
was  very  much  in  that  line?" 

"Oh,  to  be  sure!"  exclaimed  Harleston,  with 
an  air  of  complete  surprise.  ' '  However  did — Great 
Heavens,  Madeline,  were  you  the  woman  of  the 
roses  and  the  cab?" 

"You  know  that  I  wasn't!"  she  replied. 

"Then  how  do  you  know  of  the  cab  of  the 
sleeping  horse,  and  what  followed?"  he  inquired 
blandly. 

"I  dreamed  it." 

' '  Wonderful !     Simply  wonderful ! ' ' 

She   nodded   tolerantly.     "Why  keep  up   the 


Skirmishing  143 

fiction?"  she  asked.  "You  know  that  I  am 
concerned  in  your  adventure — just  as  I  know  of 
your  adventure.  I  was  on  the  street,  or  in  the 
house,  or  was  told  of  it,  whichever  you  please;  it's 
all  one,  since  you  know.  Moreover  you  have 
seen  me  with  one  of  your  early  morning  callers, 
as  I  meant  you  to  do. "  She  leaned  forward  and 
looked  at  him  with  half-closed  eyes.  "Will 
you  believe  me,  Guy,  when  I  say  that  the  United 
States  is  not  concerned  in  the  matter — and  that  it 
should  keep  its  hands  off.  You  stumbled  by 
accident  on  the  deserted  cab.  A  subordinate 
blundered,  or  you  would  not  have  found  it  ready 
for  your  investigation — and  you've  been  unduly 
and  unnecessarily  inquisitive.  We  have  tried  to 
be  forbearing  and  considerate  in  our  efforts  to 
regain  it,  but " 

"Regain,  my  dear  Madeline,  implies,  or  at  least 
it  conveys  an  idea  of,  previous  possession.  Did 
Germany — I  beg  your  pardon;  did  your  client  in 
this  matter  have  such " 

"I  used  regain  advisedly,"  she  broke  in. 

"Because  of  your  possession  of  the  lady,  or 
because  of  your  independent  possession  of  the 
letter?" 


144     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"You're  pleased  to  be  technical, "  she  shrugged. 

1 ' Not  at  all ! "  he  replied.  "I'm  simply  after  the 
facts :  whether  the  letter  belongs  to  you,  or  to  the 
mysterious  lady  of  the  cab?" 

"Who  isn't  in  the  least  mysterious  to  you. " 

"No!" 

"Really,  you're  delicious,  Mr.  Harleston; 
though  I  confess  that  you  have  me  mystified 
as  to  your  game  in  pretending  what  you  and  I 
know  is  pretence. " 

"You're  pleased  to  be  enigmatic!"  Harleston 
laughed. 

"Oh,  no  I'm  not,"  she  smiled,  flashing  her  rings 
and  watching  the  flashes — and  him.  ' '  You  saw  me, 
and  you  know  that  I  saw  you ;  and  I  saw  you  and 
know  that  you  saw  me.  Now,  as  I've  said  it  in 
words  of  one  syllable,  I  trust  you  will  understand. " 

"I  understand,"  said  he;  "but  you  have 
side-stepped  the  point: — To  whom  does  this  lost 
letter  belong:  to  you  or  to " 

' '  Mrs.  Clephane  ? ' '  she  adjected . 

"Exactly:  to  you,  or  to  Mrs.  Clephane?" 

"What  does  that  matter  to  you — since  it  does 
not  belong  to  you?" 

"I  may  be  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Clephane?    Or  I 


Skirmishing  145 

may  regard  myself  as  a  trustee  for  the  safe  delivery 
of  the  letter." 

"A  volunteer?" 

"If  you  so  have  it!"  he  smiled. 

She  beat  a  tattoo  with  her  slender,  nervous 
fingers,  looking  at  him  in  mild  surprise,  and  some 
disapproval. 

"Since  when  does  sentiment  enter  the  game?" 
she  asked. 

' '  Sentiment  ? "  he  inflected.  ' '  I  wasn't  aware  of 
its  entry." 

She  shrugged  mockingly.  "Beware,  old  friend 
and  enemy !  You're  losing  your  cleverness.  Mrs. 
Clephane  is  very  charming  and  alluring,  but 
remember,  Guy,  that  a  charming  woman  has  no 
place  in  the  diplomatic  game — save  to  delude  the 
enemy.  She  seems  to  be  winning  with  you — who, 
I  thought,  was  above  all  our  wiles  and  blandish 
ments.  Oh,  do  not  smile,  sir — I  recognize  the 
symptoms;  I've  played  the  innocent  and  the 
beauty  in  distress  once  or  twice  myself.  It's  all 
in  our  game — but  I'm  shockingly  amazed  to 
see  it  catch  so  experienced  a  bird  as  Guy  Har- 
leston. " 

"I'm  greatly  obliged,  Madeline,  for  your  shock- 


10 


146     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ing  amazement,"  Harleston  chuckled.  "Mean 
while,  and  returning  to  the  letter;  who  has  the 
better  title  to  possession,  Mrs.  Clephane  or  your 
self?" 

"As  I  remarked  before,  either  of  us  has  a  better 
title  to  the  letter  than  yourself.  Also — I  have 
heard  you  say  it  many  times,  and  it  is  an  accepted 
rule  in  the  diplomatic  game — never  meddle  in  what 
does  not  concern  you ;  never  help  to  pull  another's 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire. " 

"My  dear  lady,  you  are  perfectly  right!  I 
subscribe  unreservedly  to  the  rule,  and  try  to  fol 
low  it;  but  you  have  overlooked  another  rule 
— the  most  vital  of  the  code." 

"What  is  it,  pray!" 

"The  old  rule: — Never  believe  your  adversary. 
Never  tell  the  truth — except  when  the  truth  will 
deceive  more  effectively  than  a  lie. " 

"That  is  entirely  regular,  yet  not  applica 
ble  to  the  present  matter.  I'm  not  your  ad 
versary." 

"You  say  you're  not — yet  how  does  that  avoid 
the  rule?" 

"Won't  you  take  my  word,  Guy?"  she  mur 
mured. 


Skirmishing  147 

"I  am  at  a  loss  whether  to  take  it  or  not,"  he 
reflected;  "being  so,  I'm  in  a  state  of  equipoise 
until  I'm  shown. " 
.  "Tell  me  how  I  can  show  you?"  she  smiled. 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  idea.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  that  if  you  were  to  tell  me  truthfully  why 
you  are  here,  and  what  you  aim  to  accomplish, 
I  couldn't  accept  your  story;  I  should  have  to 
substantiate  it  by  other  means. " 

"You  mean  that  I  can't  show  you?"  she  said 
sorrowfully. 

He  nodded.  "No  more  than  I  could  show  you 
were  our  positions  reversed. " 

What  her  purpose,  in  all  this  talk,  he  failed  to 
see — unless  she  were  seeking  to  establish  an 
entente  cordiale,  or  to  gain  time.  The  latter  was 
the  likelier — yet  time  for  what  ?  They  both  were 
aware  that  all  this  discussion  was  twaddle — like 
much  that  is  done  in  diplomacy;  that  they  were 
merely  skirmishing  to  determine  something  as  to 
each  other's  position. 

"I  had  hoped  that  for  once  you  would  forget 
business  and  trust  me,"  she  said  softly;  "in  mem 
ory  of  old  times  when  we  worked  together,  as  well 
as  when  we  were  against  each  other.  We  played 


148     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  game  then  for  all  that  was  in  it,  and  neither 
of  us  asked  nor  gave  quarter.  But  this  isn't  busi 
ness,  Guy,—  "  she  had  gradually  bent  closer  until 
her  hair  brushed  his  cheek — ' '  that  is,  it  isn't  busi 
ness  that  concerns  your  government.  You  may 
believe  this  implicitly,  old  enemy,  absolutely  im 
plicitly.  " 

"With  whom,  then,  has  it  to  do?"  he  inquired 
placidly. 

She  sighed  just  a  trifle — and  moved  closer. 

"You  will  never  tell,  nor  use  the  information?" 
she  breathed. 

' '  Not  unless  my  government  needs  it  ? " 

' '  Peste  I ' '  she  exclaimed.  ' '  You  and  your  govern 
ment  are — However,  I'll  tell  you."  Her  voice 
dropped  to  a  mere  whisper.  "It  has  to  do  with 
England,  Germany,  and  France;  at  least,  I  so 
assume.  It  has  to  do  with  Germany  or  I  wouldn't 
be  in  it,  as  you  know." 

"And  what  is  the  business?"  he  continued. 

"I'm  not  informed — further  than  that  it's  a 
secret  agreement  between  England  and  Germany, 
which  France  suspects  and  would  give  much  to 
block  or  to  be  advised  of.  As  to  what  the  agree 
ment  embodies,  I  am  in  the  dark — though  I  fancy 


Skirmishing  149 

it  has  to  do  with  some  phase  of  the  Balkan  ques 
tion.  " 

"Why  would  England  and  Germany  conclude  an 
agreement  as  to  the  Balkan  question — or  any  ques 
tion,  indeed — in  Washington?"  Harleston  asked. 

"I  do  not  know;  I'm  quite  ready  to  admit  its 
seeming  improbability.  Possibly  Germany  desired 
the  experience  of  her  new  Ambassador,  Baron 
Kurtz,  and  didn't  care  to  order  him  to  Europe. 
Possibly,  too,  they  chose  Washington  in  order 
to  avoid  the  spying  eyes  of  the  secret  service  of  the 
other  Powers.  At  all  events,  I've  told  you  all  that 
I  know." 

"Why  are  you  here?"  he  went  on. 

"I'm  here  to  watch — and  to  do  as  I'm  directed. 
I'm  on  staff  duty,  so  to  speak.  I'm  not  quite  in 
your  class,  Guy.  I've  never  operated  quite 
alone."  She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "We 
two  together  would  make  a  great  pair — oh,  a  very 
great  pair!" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  he  replied.  ' ' Sometime,  I  hope, 
we  can  try  it. " 

"Why  not  try  it  now?"  she  said  gently. 

"I'm  in  the  American  secret  service — and,  you 
said,  America  is  not  involved. " 


150     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Join  with  Germany — and  me — for  this  once. " 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  serve  my  country  for 
my  pleasure.  Germany  is  another  matter.  If, 
sometime,  in  an  affair  entirely  personal  to  you, 
Madeline,  I  should  be  able  to  assist  you,  I  shall 
be  only  too  glad  for  the  chance. " 

"You  don't  trust  me, "  she  replied  sadly. 

"Trust  is  a  word  unknown  in  the  diplomatic 
vocabulary!"  he  smiled.  "Moreover,  I  couldn't 
do  what  you  want  even  if  I  believed  and  trusted 
your  every  word.  You  want  the  letter — the 
Clephane  letter.  I  haven't  it — as  you  know. 
It's  in  the  possession  of  the  State  Department. " 

"Then   let  it  remain   there!"   she  exclaimed. 

"It  probably  will  until  it's  translated,"  he 
replied. 

"It's  in  cipher?" 

Harleston  nodded.  "Do  you  know  what  it 
contains?"  he  asked. 

"Unfortunately,  I  don't." 

"You  would  like  to  know?" 

"Above  everything!" 

"And  until  then  you  would  not  have  the  French 
Ambassador  advised  of  the  letter,  nor  of  the  ad 
venture  of  the  cab?" 


Skirmishing  151 

"Precisely,  old  friend,  precisely." 

"How  will  you  prevent  Mrs.  Clephane  telling 
it?" 

"We  must  try  to  provide  for  that!"  she  smiled. 

"Why  didn't  you  keep  her  prisoner,  when  you 
had  her  last  night?" 

"That  was  a  serious  blunder;  it  won't  happen 
again. " 

"H-u-m, "  reflected  Harleston;  and  his  glance 
sought  Mrs.  Spencer's  and  held  it.  "Where  is 
Mrs.  Clephane  now?"  he  demanded. 

For  just  an  instant  her  eyes  narrowed  and  grew 
very  dark.  Then  suddenly  she  laughed — lightly, 
with  just  a  suggestion  of  mockery  in  the  tones. 

"Mrs.  Clephane — is  yonder!"  said  she. 

Harleston  turned  quickly.  Mrs.  Clephane  was 
coming  down  the  corridor.  • 


XI 


HALF  A  LIE 

"SOMEWHAT  unexpected,  isn't  it?"  Harleston 
asked. 

"To  whom — you,  her,  or  myself?"  Mrs.  Spencer 
inquired. 

"To  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  I'm  never  surprised  at  anything ! ' ' 
Then  just  a  trace  of  derision  came  into  her  face. 
"Won't  you  present  me,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"Certainly,  I  will,"  he  responded  gravely,  and 
arose. 

"Another  unexpected!"  she  mocked.  "But 
she  is  good  to  look  at,  Guy,  I  must  grant  you  that. 
Also — "  and  she  laughed  lightly. 

"One  moment,"  said  he  tranquilly,  and  turned 
toward  Mrs.  Clephane — who  had  caught  sight  of 
him  and  was  undecided  what  to  do. 

Now,  smiling  adorably,  she  came  to  meet  him. 

"The  two  beauties  of  the  season!"  he  thought; 
152 


Half  a  Lie  153 

and  as  he  bowed  over  her  hand  he  whispered: 
"Not  a  word  of  explanation  now;  and  play  ignor 
ance  of  everything. — Understand?" 

"  I  don't  understand — but  I'll  do  as  you  direct, " 
she  murmured. 

"I  want  to  present  you  to  Mrs.  Spencer — the 
woman  whom,  you  will  recall,  I  asked  you  in  the 
red-room  if  you  recognized.  Be  careful,  she  is 
of  the  enemy — and  particularly  dangerous." 

"Everyone  seems  to  be  dangerous  except  my 
self,"  she  replied.  "I'm  an  imbecile,  or  a  child 
in  arms." 

"I'm  not  dangerous  to  you,"  he  answered. 

"That,  sir,  remains  to  be  proven." 

"And  I  like  your  idea  of  the  child  in  arms — 
provided  it's  my  arms, "  he  whispered. 

Her  reply  was  a  reproving  glance  from  her  brown 
eyes  and  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"I'm  delighted  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Clephane," 
Mrs.  Spencer  greeted,  before  Harleston  could  say  a 
word.  She  made  place  on  the  divan  and  drew 
Mrs.  Clephane  down  beside  her.  "You're  Robert 
Clephane's  widow,  are  you  not?" 

"Robert  Clephane  was,  I  believe,  a  distant 
cousin,"  Mrs.  Clephane  responded.  "De  Forrest 


154     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Clephane  was  my  husband.  Did  you  know  him, 
Mrs.  Spencer?" 

"I  did  not.  Robert — "  with  the  faintest  stress 
on  the  name — "was  the  only  Clephane  I  knew. 
A  nice  chap,  Mrs.  Clephane;  though,  since  you're 
not  his  widow,  I  must  admit  that  he  was  a  bit  gay — 
a  very  considerable  bit  indeed." 

"We  heard  tales  of  it,"  Mrs.  Clephane  re 
plied  imperturbably.  "It  is  an  ungracious  thing, 
Mrs.  Spencer,  to  scandalize  the  dead,  but  do  you 
know  anything  of  his  gayness  from  your  own 
experience?" 

Harleston  suppressed  a  chuckle.  Mrs.  Clephane 
would  take  care  of  herself,  he  imagined. 

Mrs.  Spencer's  foot  paused  in  its  swinging,  and 
for  an  instant  her  eyes  narrowed;  then  she  smiled 
engagingly,  the  smile  growing  quickly  into  a  laugh. 

"Not  of  my  own  experience,  Mrs.  Clephane," 
she  replied  confidentially,  "but  I  have  it  from 
those  who  do  know,  that  he  set  a  merry  pace 
and  travelled  the  limit  with  his  fair  companions. 
It  was  sad,  too — he  was  a  most  charming  fellow. 
Rumour  also  had  it  that  he  was  none  too  happy 
in  his  marriage,  and  that  his  Mrs.  Clephane  was 
something  of  the  same  sort.  I've  seen  her  several 


Half  a  Lie  155 

times;  she  was  of  the  type  to  make  men's  hearts 
flutter." 

"It's  no  particular  trick  to  make  men's  hearts 
flutter,"  said  Mrs.  Clephane  sweetly. 

"How  about  it,  Mr.  Harleston?"  Mrs.  Spencer 
asked. 

"No  trick  whatever,"  he  agreed,  "provided  she 
choose  the  proper  method  for  the  particular  man; 
and  some  men  are  easier  than  others." 

"For  instance?"  Mrs.  Spencer  inflected. 

"No  instance.  I  give  it  to  you  as  a  general 
proposition  and  without  charge;  which  is  something 
unusual  in  these  days  of  tips  and  gratuities  and 
subsidized  graft  and  things  equally  predatory." 

Mrs.  Spencer  arose.  "The  mere  mention  of 
graft  puts  me  to  instant  flight,"  she  remarked. 

"And  naturally  even  the  suggestion  of  a  crime 
is  equally  repugnant  to  you,"  Mrs.  Clephane 
observed. 

"'As  a  general  proposition,"1  Mrs.  Spencer 
quoted. 

"And  general  propositions  are  best  proved  by 
exceptions,  n'est-ce  pas?"  was  the  quick  yet 
drawling  answer. 

The  two  women's  eyes  met. 


156     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I  trust,  Mrs.  Clephane,  we  shall  meet  again 
and  soon,"  Mrs.  Spencer  replied,  extending  her 
hand. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  was  Mrs.  Clephane's 
answer. 

Mrs.  Spencer  turned  to  Harleston  with  a  per 
fectly  entrancing  smile. 

"Good-night,  Guy,"  she  murmured. • — "No,  sir, 
not  a  foot;  I'm  going  up  to  my  apartment. " 

"Then  we  will  convoy  you  to  the  elevator. 
Come,  Mr.  Harleston." 

"It  is  only  a  step,"  Mrs.  Spencer  pro 
tested. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Mrs.  Clephane,  "we  shall 
not  permit  you  to  brave  alone  this  Peacock  Alley 
and  its  heedless  crowd. " 

And  putting  her  arm  intimately  through  Mrs. 
Spencer's  she  went  on:  with  Harleston  trailing 
in  the  rear  and  chuckling  with  suppressed  glee. 
It  was  not  often  that  Madeline  Spencer  met  her 
match ! 

When  the  car  shot  upward  with  Mrs.  Spencer, 
Harleston  gave  a  quiet  laugh  of  satisfaction. 

"Now  shall  we  go  in  to  dinner?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Clephane  nodded. 


Half  a  Lie  157 

"The  table  in  the  corner  yonder,  Philippe," 
Harleston  said. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Spencer?"  she  inquired,  as  soon  as 
they  were  seated. 

"You've  never  heard  of  her?" 

"No — nor  seen  her  before  tonight.  One  is  not 
likely  to  forget  her;  she's  as  lovely  as " 

"Original  sin?"  Harleston  supplied. 

Mrs.  Clephane  smiled. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  she.  "Diana  is  the  one  I 
was  about  to  suggest. " 

"She  may  look  the  Diana,"  he  replied,  "but 
she's  very  far  from  a  Diana,  believe  me,  very  far 
indeed." 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  believe  it,  Mr.  Harleston." 
She  lowered  her  voice.  "I  have  much  to  tell  you 
— and,"  with  a  quick  look  at  him,  "also  something 
to  explain. " 

"Your  explanation  is  not  in  the  least  necessary 
if  it  has  to  do  with  anything  Mrs.  Spencer  said." 

"Under  the  circumstances  I  think  I  should  be 
frank  with  you.  Mrs.  Spencer  said  just  enough 
to  make  you  suspect  me;  then  she  dropped  it — 
and  half  a  lie  is  always  more  insidious  than  the 
full  truth." 


158     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Clephane, "  he  protested,  "I 
assure  you  it  is  not  necessary " 

"Not  necessary,  if  one  is  in  the  diplomatic 
profession,"  she  cut  in.  "Murder  and  assassina 
tion,  both  of  men  and  of  reputation,  seem  to  be 
a  portion  of  this  horrible  business,  and  perfectly 
well  recognized  as  a  legitimate  means  to  effect  the 
end  desired.  I'm  not  in  it — diplomacy,  I  mean, — • 
and  I'm  mighty  thankful  I'm  not.  Mrs.  Spencer 
cold  as  ice,  crafty  as  the  devil,  beautiful  as  sin,  and 
hard  as  adamant,  knowing  her  Paris  and  London 
and  its  scandals — I  suppose  she  must  know  them  in 
her  profession — instantly  recognized  me  and  placed 
me  as  Robert  Clephane's  wife.  For  I  am  his  wife 
— or  rather  his  widow.  I  lied  to  her  because 
I  didn't  intend  that  she  should  have  the  gratifi 
cation  of  seeing  her  play  win.  She  sought  to 
distress  and  disconcert  me,  and  to  raise  in  your 
mind  a  doubt  of  my  motives  and  my  story.  It  may 
be  legitimate  in  diplomacy,  but  it's  dastardly  and 
inhuman.  '  Rumour  also  had  it  that  he  was  none 
too  happy  in  his  marriage,  and  that  his  Mrs.  Cle 
phane  was  something  of  the  same  sort — she  was  of 
the  type  to  make  men's  hearts  flutter.'  You  see,  I 
recall  her  exact  words.  And  what  was  I  to  do " 


Half  a  Lie  159 

"Just  what  you  did  do.  You  handled  the 
matter  beautifully. " 

1 '  Thank  you ! ' '  she  smiled.  ' '  Yet  she  would  win 
in  the  end — with  almost  any  other  man  than  you. 
She  plays  for  time;  a  very  little  time,  possibly.  I 
don't  know.  I'm  new  in  this  business — and  can't 
see  far  before  me.  Indeed,  I  can't  see  at  all; 
it's  a  maze  of  horrors.  If  I  get  out  of  this  mess 
alive,  I'll  promise  never  to  get  mixed  in  another." 

"Why  not  quit  right  now,  Mrs.  Clephane?" 
Harleston  suggested. 

"I  won't  quit  under  fire — and  with  my  mission 
unaccomplished.  Moreover,  this  Spencer  gang 
have  ruffled  my  temper — they  have  aroused  my 
fighting  blood.  I  never  realized  I  had  fighting 
blood  in  me  until  tonight.  Mrs.  Spencer's 
ugly  insinuation,  topping  their  attempted  abduc 
tion  of  the  evening,  has  done  it.  I'm  angry  all 
through.  Don't  I  look  angry,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"You're  quite  justified  in  looking  so,  dear  lady; 
as  well  as  in  being  so, "  Harleston  replied.  "Only 
you  don't  look  it  now. " 

"You're  a  sad  flatterer,  sir!"  she  smiled. 
"Believe  me,  had  you  seen  me  in  the  room  to 
which  they  decoyed  me  with  a  false  message  from 


160     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

you,  you  would  believe  that  I  can  look  it — very 
well  look  it. " 

"So  that  was  the  way  of  it!"  Harleston  ex 
claimed.  "Tell  me  about  it,  Mrs.  Clephane.  I  was 
sure  that  you  were  a  prisoner  somewhere  in  this 
hotel;  to  find  you  every  room  was  being  in 
spected." 

"Why  did  you  think  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  gaiety?"  she  asked. 

"Because  I  was  lured  by  a  message  purporting 
to  be  from  you  to  the  ninth  floor  and  garroted. 
I  escaped.  However,  that  is  another  story;  yours 
first,  my  lady." 

"You  too!"  she  marvelled. 

He  nodded.  "And  now  we  are  sitting  together 
at  dinner,  looking  at  the  crowd,  and  you're  about 
to  tell  me  your  story. " 

"Thanks  to  you  for  having  escaped  and  rescued 
me!"  Mrs.  Clephane  exclaimed. 

"The  management  devised  the  way." 

"But  you  prompted  it — you  are  the  one  I  have 
to  thank." 

"If  you  insist,  far  be  it  from  me  to  decline! 
It's  well  worth  anything  I  can  do  to — have  you 
look  at  me  as  you're  looking  now. " 


Half  a  Lie  161 

"I  hope  I'm  looking  half  that  I  feel, "  she  replied 
instantly. 

"A  modest  man  would  be  more  than  repaid  by 
half  the  look, "  he  returned. 

"Are  you  a  modest  man?"  she  smiled. 

"I  trust  so.    At  least,  I  am  with  some  people." 

"You're  giving  every  instance  of  it  with  me, 
though  it  may  be  a  part  of  the  game;  even  the 
rescue  may  be  a  part  of  the  game.  You  may  be 
playing  me  against  Mrs.  Spencer,  and  taking  advan 
tage  of  my  inexperience  to  accomplish  your  pur 
poses " 

"You  don't  think  so!"  he  said,  with  a  shake  of 
his  head. 

"No,  I  don't.  And  maybe  that  only  proves 
my  inexperience  and  unfitness. " 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  reply.  Was  she 
playing  him  ?  Was  it  a  ruse  of  a  clever  woman ; 
or  was  it  the  evidence  of  sincerity  and  innocence? 
It  had  the  ring  of  candour  and  the  appearance  of 
truth.  No  one  could  look  into  those  alluring  eyes 
and  that  fascinatingly  beautiful  face  and  harbour 
a  doubt  of  her  absolute  guilelessness.  Yet  was  it 
guilelessness?  He  had  never  met  guilelessness  in 
the  diplomatic  game,  save  as  a  mask  for  treachery 


1 62     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

and  deceit.  And  yet  this  seemed  the  real  thing. 
He  wanted  to  believe  it.  In  fact,  he  did  believe  it ; 
it  was  simply  the  habit  of  his  experience  warning 
him  to  beware — and  because  it  was  a  woman  it 
warned  him  all  the  more.  .  .  .  Yet  he  cast 
experience  aside — and  also  the  fact  'that  she  was  a 
woman — and  accepted  her  story  as  truth.  Maybe 
he  would  regret  it;  maybe  she  was  playing  him; 
maybe  she  was  laughing  behind  her  mask;  maybe 
he  was  all  kinds  of  a  fool — nevertheless,  he  would 
trust  her.  It  was 

"I'm  glad  you  have  decided  that  I'm  not  a 
diplomat — and  that  you  will  trust  me,  "  she  broke 
in.  "I'm  just  an  ordinary  woman,  Mr.  Har- 
leston,  just  a  very  ordinary  woman. " 

He  held  out  his  hand.     She  took  it  instantly. 

"A  very  extraordinary  woman,  you  mean,  dear 
lady, "  he  said  gravely.  "In  some  ways  the  most 
extraordinary  that  I  have  ever  known." 

"It's  not  in  the  line  of  diplomacy,  I  hope,"  she 
shrugged. 

"Not  the  feminine  line,  I  assure  you;  Madeline 
Spencer  is  typical  of  it,  and  the  top  of  her  class — 
which  means  she  is  wonderfully  clever,  inscrutable 
as  fate,  and  without  scruple  or  conscience.  No, 


Half  a  Lie  163 

thank  God,  you  do  not  belong  in  the  class  of 
feminine  diplomats!" 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Harleston!"  she  said  gently, 
permitting  him,  for  an  instant,  to  look  deep  into 
her  brown  eyes.  "Now,  since  you  trust  me,  I 
want  to  refer  briefly  to  Mrs.  Spencer's  insinu 
ation.  " 

"Robert  Clephane  was  all  that  she  said — and 
more.  Middle-aged  when  he  married  me,  before 
a  year  was  passed  I  had  found  that  I  was  only 
another  experience  for  him;  and  that  after  a  short 
time  he  had  resumed  his  ways  of — gaiety.  Not 
caring  to  be  pitied,  nor  to  be  so  soon  a  deserted 
wife,  nor  yet  to  admit  my  loss  of  attraction  for 
him,  I  dashed  into  the  gay  life  of  Paris  with  reck 
less  fervour.  I  know  I  was  indiscreet.  I  know  I 
fractured  conventionality  and  was  dreadfully  com 
promised — but  I  never  violated  the  Seventh 
Commandment.  Robert  Clephane  and  I  were 
not  separated — except  by  a  locked  door. 

"Then  one  day  some  two  years  back,  dreadfully 
mangled,  they  brought  him  home.  An  aeroplane 
had  fallen  with  him — with  the  usual  result.  That 
moment  saw  the  end  of  my  gay  life.  I  passed 
it  up  as  completely  as  though  it  had  never  been. 


164     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

The  reason  for  it  was  gone.  After  a  very  short 
period  of  mourning,  I  took  up  the  quietness  of  a 
respectable  widow,  who  wished  only  to  forget  that 
she  ever  was  married. " 

"I  can  understand  exactly,"  said  Harleston. 
"You  shall  never  hear  a  word  from  me  to  remind 
you. " 

"I've  never  heard  anything  to  remind  me  of  the 
past  until  this  alluring  beauty's  insinuations  of  a 
moment  ago.  That  is  why  it  hit  me  so  hard,  Mr. 
Harleston.  And  why  did  she  do  it?  Is  she 
jealous  of  you,  or  of  me,  or  what?" 

"She's  not  jealous  of  me!"  he  laughed.  "I 
know  her  history;  it's  something  of  a  history, 
too.  .  .  .  Sometime  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it;  it's 
an  interesting  tale.  Is  it  possible  you've  never 
heard  in  Paris  of  Madeline  Spencer?" 

"Never!" 

"Nor  of  the  Duchess  of  Lotzen?" 

"Great  Heavens!"  she  cried.  "Is  she  the 
Duchess  of  Lotzen?" 

"The  same,"  Harleston  nodded. 

"H-u-m!  I  can  understand  now  a  little  of  her 
— No  wonder  I  felt  my  helplessness  before  her 
polished  poise!" 


Half  a  Lie  165 

"Nonsense!"  he  smiled. 

"Why  should  such  an  accomplished — diplomat 
want  to  injure  me  with  you?"  she  asked. 

"She  was  not  seeking  to  injure  you  in  the  sense 
that  you  imply, "  he  returned.  "Her  purpose  was 
to  put  you  in  the  same  class  as  herself,  so  that  I 
should  trust  you  no  more  than  I  do  her;  to  make 
you  appear  an  emissary  of  France,  in  its  secret 
service,  playing  the  game  of  ignorance  and  in 
experience  for  its  present  purpose.  For  you,  as  a 
personality  she  does  not  care  a  fig.  To  her  you  are 
but  one  of  the  pieces,  to  be  moved  or  threatened 
as  her  purpose  dictates.  In  the  diplomatic  game, 
my  lady,  we  know  only  one  side — all  other  sides 
are  the  enemy;  and  nothing,  not  even  a  woman's 
reputation,  is  permitted  to  stand  for  an  instant 
in  the  way  of  attaining  our  end. " 

"Therefore  a  good  woman — or  one  who  would 
forget  the  past — has  no  earthly  business  to  be 
come  involved  in  the  game,"  Mrs.  Clephane  re 
turned.  "I  shall  get  out  of  it  the  instant  this 
matter  of  the  letter  is  completed — and  stay  out 
thereafter.  Even  friendship  won't  lure  me  to 
it.  Never  again,  Mr.  Harleston,  never  again  for 
mine!" 


1 66     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I  wish  you  would  let  it  end  right  now,"  he 
urged. 

"That  wouldn't  be  the  part  of  a  good  sport,  nor 
would  it  be  just  to  Madame  Durrand.  She  trusts 
me." 

"Then  inform  the  French  Ambassador  of  all  the 
facts  and  circumstances  and  retire  from  the  game, " 
he  advised. 

"Shall  I  inform  him  over  the  telephone?"  she 
asked. 

"You  would  never  get  the  Ambassador  on  the 
telephone,  unless  you  were  known  to  some  one  of 
the  staff  who  could  vouch  for  you. " 

"I  don't  know  anyone  on  the  staff,  but  Mrs. 
Durrand  has  likely  communicated  with  the  Em 
bassy. " 

"If  she  has,  she  had  given  them  a  minute 
description  of  you,  yet  that  can  not  be  used  to 
identify  you  over  the  telephone." 

"I  hesitate  to  go  to  the  Embassy  without  the 
letter, "  she  said. 

"Why  do  you  hesitate?"  he  smiled. 

"Because  I — don't  want  to  admit  defeat." 

"Which  of  itself  will  serve  to  substantiate  your 
story.  One  skilled  in  the  game  would  have  lost 


Half  a  Lie  167 

no  time  in  informing  the  Embassy  of  the  loss  of  the 
letter.  He  would  have  realized  that,  next  to  the 
letter  itself,  the  news  of  its  seizure  was  the  best 
thing  he  could  deliver — also,  it  was  his  duty  to 
advise  the  Embassy  at  the  quickest  possible  mo 
ment.  You  see,  dear  lady,  personal  pride  and 
pique  play  no  part  in  this  game.  They  are  not 
even  considered;  it's  the  execution  of  the  mission 
that's  the  one  important  thing;  all  else  is  made 
to  bend  to  that  single  end." 

"Then  I  should  go  to  the  French  Embassy 
tonight  with  my  story?"  she  asked. 

"You  should  have  gone  this  morning — the 
instant  you  were  returned  to  the  hotel!  Now, 
unless  Madame  Durrand  had  written  about  you, 
it's  a  pretty  good  gamble  that  the  Spencer  crowd 
has  forestalled  you. " 

' '  Forestalled  me !    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Mrs.  Spencer  admitted  to  me  that  your  release 
was  someone's  blunder.  The  normal  thing  was  to 
hold  you  prisoner  and  so  prevent  you  from  com 
municating  with  the  Ambassador  until  they  had 
obtained  the  letter  or  defeated  its  purpose.  That 
was  not  done;  but  Spencer,  you  may  assume, 
has  attempted  to  rectify  their  blunder — possibly 


1 68*'  The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

by  impersonating  you,  and  giving  the  Marquis 
d'Hausonville  some  tale  that  will  fall  in  with  her 
plans  and  gain  time  for  her. " 

"Impersonating  me!"  Mrs.  Clephane  exclaimed 
incredulously. 

"Yes.  She  knows  all  the  material  circumstance 
— witness  the  telephone  call  that  inveigled  you 
into  the  drive  up  the  Avenue,  et  cetera — and  she'll 
take  the  chance  that  you  are  not  known  to  the 
Marquis  nor  any  of  the  staff,  or  even  the  chance 
that  Madame  Durrand  has  not  yet  informed 
them.  Indeed  she  may  have  taken  precautions 
against  her  informing  them.  A  few  bribes  to  the 
hospital  attendants,  carefully  distributed,  would 
be  sufficient.  It's  not  everyone  who  could,  or 
would  venture  to,  pull  off  the  coup,  but  with 
Spencer  the  very  daring  of  a  thing  adds  to  its 
pleasure  and  its  zest. " 

"You  amaze  me!"  Mrs.  Clephane  replied. 
"I  thought  also  that  diplomacy  was  the  gentlest- 
mannered  profession  in  the  world — and  the  most 
dignified." 

"It  is — on  the  surface.  Fine  residences,  splen 
did  establishments,  brilliant  uniforms,  much  bow 
ing  and  many  genuflections,  plenty  of  parade  and 


Half  a  Lie  169 

glitter — eve.rything  for  show.  Under  the  surface : 
a  supreme  contempt  for  any  code  of  honour,  and 
a  ruthlessness  of  purpose  simply  appalling — yet, 
withal,  dignity,  strained  at  times,  but  dignity 
none-the-less. " 

"Then  it  isn't  even  a  respectable  calling!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"It's  eminently  respectable  to  intimidate  and  to 
lie  for  one's  country — and  to  stoop  to  any  means 
to  attain  an  end. " 

"And  you  enjoy  it!"  she  marvelled. 

"I  do.  It's  fascinating — and  I  leave  the  dis 
agreeable  portion  to  others,  when  it  has  to  do 
with  those  not  of  the  profession. " 

"And  when  it  has  to  do  with  those  of  the  pro 
fession?" 

"Then  it's  all  in  the  game,  and  everything  goes 
to  win — because  we  all  know  what  to  expect  and 
what  to  guard  against.  No  one  believes  or  trusts 
the  enemy;  and,  as  I  said,  everyone  is  the  enemy 
but  those  who  are  arrayed  with  us." 

"So  instead  of  being  the  finest  profession  in  the 
world — and  the  most  aristocratic,"  Mrs.  Clephane 
reflected,  "a  diplomat  is,  in  truth,  simply  a  false- 
pretence  artist  of  an  especially  refined  and  danger- 


170     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ous  type,  who  deals  with  the  affairs  of  nations 
instead  of  the  affairs  of  an  individual. " 

"Pretty  much,"  he  admitted.  "Diplomacy  is 
all  bluff,  bluster,  buncombe,  and  bullying;  the 
degrees  of  refinement  of  the  aforesaid  bluff,  et 
cetera,  depending  on  the  occasions,  and  the  parti 
cular  parties  involved  in  the  particular  business. " 

"Again  I'm  well  content  to  be  simply  an  ordin 
ary  woman,  whose  chief  delight  and  occupation 
is  clothes  and  the  wearing  of  clothes. " 

"You're  a  success  at  your  occupation,"  Har- 
leston  replied. 

"Some  there  are  who  would  not  agree  with  you," 
she  replied.  "However,  we  are  straying  from  the 
question  before  us,  which  is:  what  shall  I  do 
about  informing  the  Marquis  d'Hausonville? 
Will  you  go  with  me?" 

I  "My  going  with  you  would  only  complicate 
matters  for  you.  The  Marquis  would  instantly 
want  to  know  what  such  a  move  on  my  part  meant. 
I'm  known  to  be  in  the  secret  service  of  the 
United  States,  you  must  remember.  Further 
more,  your  tale  will  accuse  me  of  the  taking  of 
the  letter — and  you  see  the  merry  mess  which 
follows.  I  cannot  return  the  letter — it's  in  pos- 


Half  a  Lie  171 

session  of  the  State  Department.  I'm  far  trans 
gressing  my  duty  by  disclosing  anything  as  to  the 
letter.  Indeed,  I'm  liable  to  be  disciplined  most 
drastically,  even  imprisoned,  should  it  chance 
that  the  United  States  was  involved. " 

"You've  told  me  nothing  more  than  you've 
already  told  the  Spencer  crowd,"  she  objected. 

"The  difference  is  that  the  Spencer  crowd 
are  trying  to  obtain  something  to  which  they 
haven't  the  least  right — and  I'm  playing  the 
game  against  them.  You  see  my  peculiar  posi 
tion,  Mrs.  Clephane.  I've  told  you  what  I 
shouldn't,  because — well,  because  I'm  sure  that 
you  will  not  use  it  to  my  disadvantage. " 

She  traced  the  figures  on  her  gown  with  the  tips 
of  her  fingers,  and  for  awhile  was  silent 

"It's  all  so  involved,"  she  reflected;  "such 
wheels  within  wheels,  I  am  completely  mystified. 
I'm  lost  in  the  maze.  I  don't  know  whom  to 
believe  nor  whom  to  trust — except, "  and  suddenly 
she  smiled  at  him  confidently,  "that  I  trust  you." 

He  held  her  eyes  with  his  own  as  he  leaned 
forward  across  the  table  and  answered  very 
quietly : 

"I  shall  try,  dear  lady,  to  be  worthy." 


i/2     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"And  now,"  she  laughed,  "may  I  tell  you  what 
happened  to  me  when  you  were  called  to  the 
telephone?" 

"You  may  talk  to  me  forever, "  he  replied. 

"And  what  as  to  the  French  Ambassador?" 
she  asked. 

"Bother  the  Marquis — he  may  wait  until 
morning. " 

"Tomorrow,  then,  is  beyond  the  forever?" 

"Tomorrow  may  take  care  of  itself!" 

"Don't  be  sacrilegious,  sir." 

"I'll  be  anything  you  wish, "  he  replied. 

"Then  be  a  good  listener  while  I  tell  my  tale. 
It  was  this  wise,  Mr.  Harleston.  Immediately 
after  you  were  called  away,  indeed  you  were 
scarcely  out  of  the  room,  a  page  brought  a  verbal 
message  from  the  telephone  operator  that  my 
maid  had  been  found  unconscious  in  the  corridor 
of  the  eighth  floor,  and  carried  into  821.  I  hur 
ried  to  the  elevator.  As  I  entered  the  door  of  821, 
I  was  seized  from  behind  and  a  handkerchief  bound 
over  my  mouth  and  eyes.  I  then  was  tied  in  a 
chair,  and  a  man's  voice  said  that  no  further  harm 
would  come  to  me  if  I  remained  quiet  until  morn 
ing.  I  did  not  see  the  faces  of  my  assailants; 


Half  a  Lie  173 

there  were  two  at  least,  possibly  three,  and  one  I 
think  was  a  woman.  My  feelings  and  thoughts  until 
the  electrician  released  me  may  be  imagined.  It 
seemed  days  and  days — and  was  somewhat  uncom 
fortable  while  it  lasted.  When  released  I  hurried 
down  to  look  for  you — or  to  write  you  a  note  of 
explanation  if  I  couldn't  .find  you.  I'm  sort  of 
becoming  accustomed  to  being  abducted  and 
kindred  innocent  amusements.  I  suppose  the 
only  reason  they  didn't  kill  me  is  that  they  can't 
kill  me  more  than  once ;  and  to  kill  me  now  would 
be  too  early  in  the  game." 

"Killing  is  rarely  done  in  diplomacy, "  observed 
Harleston,  "except  in  large  numbers;  when  it 
ceases  to  be  diplomacy  and  becomes  war.  In 
fact,  only  bunglers  resort  to  killing;  and  if  the 
killing  be  known  it  ends  one's  career  in  the  service. 
To  have  to  kill  to  gain  an  end  is  conclusive 
evidence  of  incompetency.  I  mean,  of  course, 
among  reputable  nations.  There  are  some  thugs 
among  the  lesser  Powers,  just  as  there  are  thugs 
among  the  'oi  polloi.  " 

"Then  Mrs.  Spencer  is  an  accomplished — 
diplomat,"  Mrs.  Clephane  remarked. 

"She   is   at   the   top   of   the   profession, — and 


174     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

as  a  directing  force  she  is  without  a  supe 
rior." 

"You  are  very  generous,  Mr.  Harleston!" 

"I  believe  in  giving  the  devil  his  dues.  Indeed, 
in  handling  some  affairs,  she  is  in  a  class  by  herself. 
Her  beauty  and  finesse  and  alluringness  make  her 
simply  irresistible.  It's  a  cold  and  stony  heart 
that  she  can't  get  inside  of  and  use." 

"A  man's  heart,  you  mean?" 

"Certainly.  A  man  is  in  control  of  such 
affairs. " 

"Then  Mrs.  Spencer's  presence  here  indicates 
that  this  letter  matter  is  of  the  first  importance 
to  Germany." 

"It  indicates  that  her  business  is  of  the  first 
importance  to  Germany;  the  letter  may  simply 
be  incidental  to  that  business,  in  that  its  delivery 
to  the  French  Ambassador  will  embarrass  or 
complicate  that  business.  The  latter  is  likely 
the  fact. " 

"It  grows  more  involved  every  minute,"  Mrs. 
Clephane  sighed.  "It's  useless  to  try  to  make 
me  comprehend.  I  want  to  hear  what  happened 
to  you;  such  simple  concrete  doings  are  more 
adapted  to  my  unsophisticated  mind." 


Half  a  Lie  175 

"When  I  returned  to  the  telephone,  you  were 
gone,"  he  said;  "I  waited  awhile,  then  cruised 
through  the  rooms,  then  went  back  to  our  place 
and  waited  again.  Finally  I  went  in  to  dinner, 
leaving  word  to  be  notified  the  moment  you 
returned.  I  was  at  my  soup  when  a  note  was 
brought  to  me  saying  that  you  had  just  seen  some 
one  whom  you  wished  to  avoid,  and  asking  me  to 
dine  with  you  in  your  apartment — and  that  you 
would  explain  your  disappearance.  I  went  up 
at  once  to  No.  972 ;  and  there  encountered  pretty 
much  similar  treatment  to  yours," — and  he  de 
tailed  the  episode,  down  to  the  time  she  reap 
peared  in  the  corridor. 

She  had  heard  him  through  without  an  interrup 
tion;  at  the  end  she  said  simply: 

"I've  absolutely  no  business  in  this  affair,  Mr. 
Harleston.  When  such  things  can  happen  in  this 
hotel,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  National  Capital 
and  among  the  throngs  of  diners  and  guests, 
it  behooves  an  ordinary  woman  to  seek  safety  in  a 
hospital  or  a  prison.  It  seems  that  the  greater 
the  prominence  of  the  place,  the  greater  the  danger 
and  the  less  liability  to  arrest." 

"In  diplomacy!"  he  acquiesced. 


176     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Then  again,  I  say,  Heaven  save  me  from 
meddling  in  diplomacy!" 

"Amen,  my  lady!  Moreover,"  he  added,  as 
they  arose  and  passed  into  the  corridor,  "I  want 
you  as  you  are. " 

Once  again  their  eyes  met — she  coloured  and 
looked  away. 

"Play  the  game,  Mr.  Harleston, "  she  reminded, 
"play  the  game!  And  thank  you  for  a  delicious 
dinner  and  a  charming  evening — and  don't  forget 
you've  an  appointment  at  ten. " 

"I  had  forgotten!"  he  laughed,  drawing  out  his 
watch. 

It  was  ten  minutes  of  the  hour. 

"Take  me  to  the  F  Street  elevator  and  then 
hurry  on,  "  said  she. 

"And  you  will  do  nothing — and  go  nowhere 
until  tomorrow?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  promise  to  remain  here  until " 

"I  come  for  you  in  the  morning?"  he  broke 
in. 

"If  I'm  not  abducted  in  the  interval,  I'll  wait, " 
and  stepped  into  the  car.  "Good-night,  Mr. 
Harleston!"  she  smiled — and  the  car  shot  upward. 

' '  Hum ! ' '  muttered  Harleston  as  he  turned  for  his 


Half  a  Lie  177 

coat  and  hat.  "I  may  be  a  fool,  but  I'll  risk  it — 
and  I  think  I'm  noL  " 

It  was  but  a  step  to  Headquarters  and  he 
walked. 

"The  Superintendent,"  he  said  to  the  sergeant 
on  duty  in  the  outer  office. 

"The  Chief  has  gone  home,  Mr.  Harleston," 
was  the  answer. 

"Home?" 

"Yes,  sir,  two  hours  ago;  he'll  not  be  back 
tonight. " 

"Get  him  on  the  telephone, "  Harleston  directed. 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Harleston.  .  .  .  Here  he  is,  sir — 
you  can  use  the  'phone  in  the  private  office. " 

"Hello!  Is  that  you,  Ranleigh?  Yes,  I 
recognized  the  voice.  Did  you  telephone  me  at  the 
Chateau  about  six- thirty ?  .  .  .  You  didn't?  .  .  . 
You  were  on  your  way  home  at  that  hour.  .  .  . 
Yes,  exactly;  it  was  a  plant.  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
Crenshaw  escaped  from  my  apartment.  '.  .  .  Yes, 
I  saw  him  in  the  Chateau  this  evening.  .  .  . 
What?  .  .  .  Yes,  better  look  up  Whiteside  at 
once.  .  .  .  Yes,  in  the  Collingwood.  .  .  .  Very 
good;  I'll  meet  you  there.  .  .  .  All  right,  I'll  tell 
the  sergeant." 


XII 

CARPENTER 

HARLESTON  took  a  taxi  to  the  Collingwood, 
arriving  just  as  Ranleigh  came  up,  and  the  two 
men  went  in  together. 

Whiteside  was  there;  gagged  and  bound  to  the 
same  chair  that  had  held  Crenshaw. 

The  rooms  were  in  confusion.  Everything  had 
been  gone  through ;  clothes  were  scattered  over  the 
floor,  papers  were  strewn  about,  drawers  stood  open. 

They  released  Whiteside,  and  presently  he  was 
able  to  talk. 

"When  did  it  happen?"  Ranleigh  asked. 

"About  five  o'clock  this  afternoon,  sir,"  White- 
side  replied,  in  a  most  apologetic  tone.  He  knew 
there  was  no  sympathy  and  no  excuse  for  the 
detective  who  let  his  prisoner  escape.  "The 
bell  rang.  I  went  to  the  door — and  was  shot 
senseless  by  a  chemical  revolver.  When  I  came 
to,  I  had  exchanged  places  with  the  prisoner,  and 

178 


Carpenter  179 

he  and  another  man  were  just  departing.  'My 
compliments  to  Mr.  Harleston  when  he  returns,' 
said  Crenshaw,  as  he  went  out." 

"Describe  the  other  man!"  said  Ranleigh. 

"Medium  sized,  slender,  dark  hair  and  eyes, 
good  features,  looked  like  a  gentleman,  wore  a 
blue  sack-suit,  black  silk  tie,  and  stiff  straw  hat. " 

"It's  Sparrow,"  Harleston  remarked.  "Did 
they  take  anything  with  them?" 

"Nothing  whatever  that  I  saw,  sir." 

"You're  excused  until  morning,"  said  the 
Chief  curtly. 

The  detective  saluted  and  went  out. 

"I  am  exceedingly  sorry  I  overlooked  Whiteside 
when  I  escaped  from  Crenshaw's  garrote  in  the 
Chateau, ' '  Harleston  remarked.  ' '  The  simple  fact 
is,  I  clean  forgot  him  until  I  was  talking  with  you 
on  the  telephone." 

"It's  just  as  well,  Mr.  Harleston,"  Ranleigh 
replied.  "It  served  him  right.  He  will  be 
fortunate  if  his  want  of  precaution  doesn't  cost 
him  his  job. " 

"No,  no!"  Harleston  objected.  "Whiteside 
has  been  punished.  I  intercede  for  him.  Let 
him  continue  in  his  job,  please." 


i8o     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Very  good,  sir,"  Ranleigh  acquiesced.  "But 
he'll  be  informed  that  he  owes  his  retention 
entirely  to  you. " 

When  Ranleigh  departed,  after  hearing  a 
detailed  account  of  the  evening's  doings  at  the 
hotel,  Harleston  sat  for  a  little  while  thinking; 
finally  he  drew  over  a  pad  and  made  a  list  of 
things  that  required  explanation,  or  seemed  to 
require  explanation,  at  the  present  stage  of  the 
matter : 

"(i)  The  translation  of  the  cipher  letter. 
This  should  explain  Madeline  Spencer's  connection 
with  the  affair. 

"(2)  Did  the  following  persons,  incidents,  or 
circumstances  have  any  bearing  on  the  affair. 

"(a)  The  lone  and  handsome  woman,  who 
left  the  Collingwood  at  three  that  morning. 

"(b)  The  note  'a  1'aube  du  jour'  (signed) 
*M,'  found  in  Crenshaw's  pocket. 

"(c)  The  telephone  call  of  the  Chartrand 
apartment  at  12:52  A.M.,  by  a  man  who  said  that 
he  was  'here'  and  to  meet  him  at  10  A.M. 

"(d)  The  persons  in  the  Chartrand  apart 
ment  the  previous  night. 

"(e)    After  i  P.M.  no  one  entered  the  Colling- 


Carpenter  181 

wood  by  the  usual  way,  and  no  one  telephoned; 
how,  therefore,  did  anyone  in  the  Collingwood 
know  of  the  incident  of  the  cab,  and  of  my  con 
nection  with  it. 

"(f)  Who  is  Mrs.  Winton  of  the  Burlingame 
apartments  ? 

"(g)  Why  was  she  in  Peacock  Alley,  wearing 
black  and  red  roses,  at  five  o'clock  this  afternoon?" 

Harleston  read  over  the  list,  folded  it,  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket-book;  then  he  went  to  bed.  There 
was  plenty  for  him  to  seek,  in  regard  to  the  affair 
of  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse,  but  nothing  more 
for  the  Spencer  gang  to  inspect  in  his  apartment. 
Crenshaw  had  made  a  thorough  job  of  his  investi 
gation. 

In  the  morning  he  took  out  the  list  and  went 
over  it  again.  They  all  were  dependent  on  the 
translation  of  the  letter;  if  it  did  not  show  that 
the  United  States  was  concerned  in  the  matter, 
the  rest  became  merely  of  academic  interest — and 
Harleston  had  little  inclination  and  no  time  for 
things  academic.  The  difficulty  was,  that  until 
the  key  to  the  cipher  was  found  nothing  was 
academic  which  appeared  to  have  any  bearing  on 
the  affair. 


1 82     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

So  he  sent  for  the  manager  of  the  Collingwood, 
and  asked  as  to  the  Chartrands.     The  manager's 
information,  which  was  definite  if  not  extensive, 
was  to  the  effect  that  the  Chartrands  were  people 
of    means    from    Denver,    with    excellent    social 
position  there,  and  with  connections  in  Washing 
ton.     They  had  been  tenants  of  the  Collingwood 
less  than  a  week,  having  sublet  the  Dryand  apart 
ment.     It  was   a   large    apartment.     Mr.   Char- 
trand  was  possibly  forty-five,  his  wife  thirty-eight 
or    forty    and  exceedingly    good-looking.     There 
was,  of  course,  no  record  kept  of  their  visitors,  nor 
did  the  house  know  who  they  were  entertaining 
the  previous  evening.     He  was  entirely  sure,  how- 
rever,  that  the  Chartrands  were  above  suspicion. 
Mrs.  Chartrand  was  a  blonde,  petite  and  slender; 
Chartrand  was  tall  and  rather  stout,  with  red  hair, 
and  a  scar  across  his  forehead.     As  for  the  tall, 
slender  woman  who  left  the  Collingwood  at  three 
in   the  morning,  he  did  not  recognize  her  from 
the  description;  he  would,  however,  investigate  at 
once. 

That  it  might  be  Madeline  Spencer,  now  that  her 
presence  in  Washington  was  declared,  Harleston 
thought  possible.  "Slender,  twenty-eight,  walks 


Carpenter  183 

as  though  the  ground  were  hers,"  the  telephone 
operator  had  said.  He  would  get  the  photograph 
from  Carpenter  and  let  Miss  Williams  see  it. 
If  she  recognized  it  as  Spencer,  much  would  be 
explained. 

He  stopped  a  moment  at  the  Club,  then  went 
on  to  the  State  Department.  As  he  turned  the 
corner  near  the  Secretary's  private  elevator,  the 
Secretary  himself  was  on  the  point  of  embarking 
and  he  waited. 

"You  want  to  see  me?"  he  asked. 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Secretary,  since  you're 
here , ' '  Harleston  responded.  ' '  I  came  particularly 
to  see  Carpenter.  There  has  been  a  plenty 
doing  in  that  matter,  but  nothing  worthy  of  report 
to  you — except  one  thing.  Madeline  Spencer  is 
in  town." 

"The  devil  she  is!"  exclaimed  the  Secretary. 

"And  as  beautiful,  as  fascinating,  as  sinuous, 
and  as  young  as  ever. " 

"She  must  be  a  vision. " 

"She  is — and  an  extraordinarily  dangerous 
vision. " 

"Only  to  you  impressible  chaps!"  the  Secretary 
confided.  "She  is  not  dangerous  to  me,  be  she 


184     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ever  so  beautiful,  and  fascinating,  and  sinuous, 
and  young.  When  will  you  present  me  ? " 

"When  do  you  suggest?"  Harleston  asked. 

"Tomorrow,  at  four?" 

"If  I  can  get  the  lady,  certainly." 

"Later  she'll  get  me,  you  think!"  the  Secretary 
laughed. 

"If  she  is  so  minded  she'll  get  you,  I  have  not 
the  least  doubt,"  Harleston  shrugged. 

"Then  here  is  where  you  have  your  doubt  re 
solved  into  moonshine. " 

"Very  well;  it  won't  be  the  first  time  I've  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  moonshine.  I'll  try  to  make 
the  appointment  for  tomorrow  at  four." 

"Self-opinionated  old  mountebank, "  Harleston 
thought,  as  he  went  down  the  corridor  to  Car 
penter's  office.  "I  shall  enjoy  watching  Spencer 
make  all  kinds  of  an  ass  of  him.  'You  impressible 
chaps! — not  dangerous  to  me!'  Oh,  Lord,  the 
patronizing  bumptiousness  of  the  man!  .  .  . 
Have  you  anything  for  me,  Carpenter?"  he  asked, 
as  he  entered  the  latter's  office. 

The  Fifth  Assistant  was  sitting  with  his  feet 
on  his  desk,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his  gaze  fixed 
on  vacancy. 


Carpenter  185 

"Damn  your  old  cipher,  Harleston!"  he 
remarked,  coming  out  of  his  abstraction.  "It's 
bothered  me  more  than  anything  I've  tackled  for 
years.  I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  of  it.  Its  very 
simplicity — or  seeming  simplicity — is  what's  tan 
talizing.  It's  in  French.  Of  so  much  I  feel  sure, 
though  I've  little  more  than  intuition  to  back  it. 
As  you  know,  this  Vigene"rie,  or  Blocked-Out 
Square,  cipher  is  particularly  difficult.  I've  tried 
every  word  arid  phrase  that's  ever  been  used  or 
discovered.  We  have  a  complete  record  of  them. 
None  fit  this  case.  Can  you  give  me  anything 
additional  that  will  be  suggestive?" 

"Here's  what  I've  brought,"  Harleston  replied 
— and  related,  so  far  as  they  seemed  pertinent,  the 
incidents  of  the  previous  afternoon  and  evening. 

"A  French  message  in  an  English  envelope, 
inclosing  an  unmounted  photograph  of  Madeline 
Spencer,  a  well-known  German  Secret  Agent  in 
Paris,"  Carpenter  remarked  slowly;  "and  the 
letter  is  borne  by  Madame  Durrand  to  the  French 
Ambassador.  You  see,  my  intuition  was  right; 
the  letter  is  in  French ;  and  as  it  is  of  French  author 
ship  the  key- word  is  French.  That  narrows 
very  materially  our  search.  Find  the  key-word  to 


1 86     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  Vigen£rie  cipher  of  the  French  Diplomatic 
Service  and  we  shall  have  the  translation." 

"You  haven't  that  word?"  Harleston  asked. 

"We've  got  quantities  of  keys  to  French  ciphers, 
and  numerous  ones  to  the  Blocked-Out  Square, 
but  they  won't  translate  this  letter."  He  took  up 
a  small  book  and  opened  it  at  a  mark.  "Here 
are  samples  of  the  latter:  ecclesiastiques,  coeur  de 
roche,  a  deau  eaux,  fourreau,  chateau  d'eau,  and  so 
on.  But,  alas,  none  of  them  fits;  the  French 
Government  has  a  new  key.  Indeed,  she  changes 
it  every  month  or  oftener;  sometimes  she  changes 
it  just  for  a  single  letter." 

"Then  we  must  apply  ourselves  to  obtaining 
the  French  key- word, "  Harleston  remarked. 
"Can  you— doit?" 

"Maybe  we  can  pilfer  it  and  maybe  we  can't. 
At  least  we  can  make  a  brisk  attempt.  I  will 
give  orders  at  once.  In  the  meantime,  if  you'll 
keep  me  advised  of  what  happens,  we  may  be  able 
to  piece  your  and  my  information  together  and 
make  a  word." 

"I'll  do  it!"  Harleston  replied  and  started 
toward  the  door.  Half-way  across  the  room  he 
suddenly  whirled  around.  "Lord,  Carpenter. 


Carpenter  187 

what  an  imbecile  I  am!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  fancy 
I've  had  the  key- word  all  the  while  and  never 
realized  it." 

"There  are  too  many  petticoats  in  this  case," 
Carpenter  shrugged. 

"Never  mind  the  petticoats!"  Harleston 
laughed.  "Get  out  the  letter  and  try  this  phrase 
on  it:  d,  Vaube  du  jour." 

Without  a  word  of  comment,  Carpenter  set 
down  the  cipher  message,  letter  by  letter,  and  wrote 
over  it  d  Vaube  dujour.  Then  he  took  up  a  printed 
Blocked-Out  Square  and  with  incredible  swiftness 
began  to  write  the  translation. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  'at  the  break  of  day,' 
Harleston?"  he  asked  as  he  wrote. 

"Found  it  in  Crenshaw's  pocket-book  when  he 
returned  to  hold  me  up, "  Harleston  replied. 

"Only  this  isolated  phrase?" 

"Yes — and  signed  with  the  single  initial  'M. " 

"Hump!"  Carpenter  commented.  "Mrs. 
Spencer's  name,  I  believe  you  said,  is  Madeline. 
I  tell  you  there  are  too  many  women  in  this 
affair." 

Suddenly  he  threw  down  the  pen.  "What's  the 
use  in  going  on  with  it.  If  you  can  supply  a  key 


1 88     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

to  this  key  we  may  arrive.  Such  an  array  of 
unpronounceables  may  be  Russian,  it  assuredly 
isn't  French  or  English.  Look  at  it!"  and  he 
handed  the  translation  to  Harleston,  who  read: 

AGELUMTONZUCLPMUHRHUNBARGPUH 
PJICLWYIAOIWFPHLUOZFRXUFJWH 
WASNVDPS 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Harleston.  "I  pass.  Did 
you  ever  see  so  many  consonants.  I  reckon  my 
key-word  isn't  the  key." 

"Try  being  held  up  again,"  Carpenter  advised; 
"you  may  succeed  the  second  time.  If  Madeline 
Spencer  is  the  holdee,  no  telling  what  you'd 
find." 

"I'd  find  nothing,"  Harleston  rejoined. 

"You'd  be  holding  a  particularly  lovely  and 
attractive  bit  of  skirts!"  Carpenter  smiled. 

"I  don't  want  to  hold  that  at  present. " 

' '  Not  even — Mrs.  Clephane  ? ' ' 

Harleston  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly. 

"What  do  you  know  about  Mrs.  Clephane?" 
he  asked. 

"That  she's  even  lovelier  and  more  attractive 
than  Mrs.  Spencer. " 


Carpenter  189 

"You've  seen  her — you  know  her?" 

"You  told  me,"  replied  Carpenter. 

' '  I  told  you ! — I  never  referred  to  Mrs.  Clephane's 
appearance. " 

"Exactly:  your  careful  reticence  told  me  more 
than  if  you  had  used  tons  of  words.  I'm  a  reader 
of  secret  ciphers;  you  don't  imagine  a  mere  individ 
ual  presents  much  of  a  problem.  I  tell  you  there 
are  too  many  petticoats  mixed  up  in  this  affair 
of  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse,"  Carpenter 
repeated.  "Be  careful,  Harleston.  Women  are 
a  menace — they  spoil  about  everything  they 
touch. " 

"Marriage  in  particular?"  Harleston  inquired. 

"Exactly!" 

"A    bachelor's    wisdom!"    Harleston    laughed. 

"Why  are  you  a  bachelor? "  Carpenter  shrugged. 

"Because  I  never " 

" — found  the  woman;  or  have  been  adroit 
enough  to  avoid  her  wiles,"  Carpenter  cut  in. 
"And  whichever  it  is,  you've  shown  your  wisdom. 
Don't  spoil  it  now,  Harleston,  don't  spoil  it  now. 
Millionaires  and  day-labourers  are  the  only 
classes  that  have  any  business  to  marry;  the  rest 
of  us  chaps  either  can't  afford  the  luxury,  or  are 


190     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

not  quite  poor  enough  to  be  forced  to  marry  in 
order  to  get  a  servant. " 

"You  would  be  popular  with  the  suffragettes," 
Harleston  remarked. 

"Wordly  wisdom  of  any  sort  is  never  popular 
with  those  against  whom  it  warns." 

"An  aphorism!"  Harleston  laughed. 

"Aphorism  be  damned;  it's  just  plain  horse 
sense.  Don't  do  it,  old  man,  don't  do  it!" 

"Don't  do  what?" 

"Don't  fall  in  love  with  Mrs.  Clephane." 

"Good  Lord!"  Harleston  exclaimed. 

"Good  Lord  all  you  want,  you're  on  the  verge 
and  preparing  to  leap  in — and  you  know  it.  Let 
some  other  man  be  the  life-saver,  Harleston. 
You're  much  too  fine  a  chap  to  waste  yourself  in 
foolishness. " 

"And  all  this,"  Harleston  expostulated  with 
mock  solemnity,  "because  I  neglected  to  include 
a  description  of  Mrs.  Clephane. " 

"Neglected  with  deliberation.  And  with  you 
that  is  more  significant  than  if  you  had  detailed 
most  minutely  her  manifold  attractions.  Look 
here,  Harleston,  do  you  want  this  translation  for 
yourself  or  for  Mrs.  Clephane?" 


Carpenter  191 

"I  want  the  translation  because  the  Sec 
retary  of  State  wants  it,"  Harleston  replied 
quietly. 

"Oh,  don't  become  chilly,"  Carpenter  returned 
good-naturedly.  "If  you  permit,  I'll  tell  you 
something  about  a  Mrs.  Clephane — queer  name 
Clephane,  and  rather  unusual — whom  I  used  to 
see  in  Paris,"  glancing  languidly  at  Harleston, 
"several  years  ago.  Want  to  hear  it?" 

"Sure!"  said  Harleston.  "Drive  on  and  keep 
driving.  You  won't  drive  over  me. " 

"It  isn't  a  great  deal,"  Carpenter  went  on, 
slowly  tearing  the  consonant  collection  into  bits, 
"and  perchance  it  wasn't  your  Mrs.  Clephane;  but 
her  name,  and  her  beauty  and  charm,  and  Paris, 
and  some  other  inferences  I  drew,  led  me  to  suspect 
that — "  He  completed  the  sentence  by  a  wave 
of  his  hand.  "She  was  Robert  Clephane's  wife 
— yes,  I  see  in  your  face  that  she  is  your  Mrs. 
Clephane — and  he  led  her  a  merry  life,  though 
if  rumour  lied  not  she  kept  up  with  the  pace  he 
set.  I  saw  her  frequently  and  she  was  as — well 
you  have  not  overdrawn  the  'reticence  picture.' 
Shall  I  continue?" 

Harleston  smiled  and  nodded. 


192     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Doubtless  you  already  know  the  tale,"  Car 
penter  remarked. 

"I  know  only  what  Mrs.  Clephane  has  told  me, " 
Harleston  replied. 

The  Fifth  Assistant  Secretary  picked  up  a  ruler 
and  sighted  carefully  along  the  edge. 

"I  seem  to  be  in  wrong,  old  man,"  he  said. 
"Please  forget  that  I  ever  said  it  or  anything — you 
understand." 

"My  dear  fellow,  don't  be  an  ass!"  Harleston 
laughed.  "I'm  not  sensitive  about  the  lady;  I 
never  saw  her  until  last  night." 

"Quite  long  enough  for  a  man  disposed  to  make 
a  fool  of  himself — if  the  lady  is  a  beauty. " 

"I'm  disposed  to  hear  more  from  you,  if  you  care 
to  tell  me, "  Harleston  replied.  "However,  jesting 
aside,  Carpenter,  what  do  you  know?  Mrs. 
Clephane  is  something  of  a  puzzle  to  me,  but  I  have 
concluded  to  accept  her  story;  yet  I'm  always  open 
to  conviction,  and  if  I'm  wrong  now's  the  time  to 
enlighten  me — the  State  comes  first,  you  know." 

"Are  you  viewing  Mrs.  Clephane  simply  as  a 
circumstance  in  the  affair  of  the  cipher  letter?" 
Carpenter  asked. 

"Certainly!"  said  Harleston. 


Carpenter  193 

"Then  I'll  give  you  what  I  heard.  It's  not 
much,  and  it  may  be  false;  it's  for  you  to  judge,  in 
the  light  of  all  that  you  know  concerning  her, 
whether  or  not  it  affects  her  credibility.  Mrs. 
Clephane  went  with  a  notoriously  fast  set  in  Paris, 
and  her  reputation  was  somewhat  cloudy." 

"I  know  of  that,"  returned  Harleston,  "also 
that  Clephane  was  a  roue,  and  generally  an 
exceedingly  rotten  lot. " 

"Precisely — and  her  conduct  as  to  him  may  be 
quite  justifiable;  yet  nevertheless  it  weakens  her 
credibility;  puts  her  story  as  to  the  letter  under 
suspicion.  And  there  is  one  thing  more :  Clephane, 
you  know,  was  killed  in  an  aeroplane  smash.  Did 
Mrs.  Clephane  tell  you  anything  as  to  it?" 

"Merely  referred  to  it." 

"Well,  at  a  dinner  the  night  before,  he  effer 
vesced  that  his  wife  had  repeatedly  tried  to  poison 
him,  and  had  told  him  only  that  evening  that  she 
hoped  the  flight  of  the  morrow  would  be  his  last, 
and  that  he  would  fall  so  far  it  would  be  useless 
to  dig  for  his  remains.  At  the  aviation  field  the 
following  day  he  appeared  queer,  and  his  friends 
urged  him  not  to  try  the  flight;  but  he  waved 
them  aside,  with  the  remark  that  maybe  Mrs. 

13 


194     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Clephane  had  drugged  him  and  at  last  would 
win  out.  His  fall  came  a  trifle  later.  Suspicion 
followed,  of  course. " 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?"  Harleston  asked. 

"From  a  man  who  was  one  of  his  intimates,  and 
has  reformed;  and  from  having  myself  been  in  the 
aviation  field  the  day  of  the  tragedy. " 

"You  heard  Clephane's  remark?" 

"I  did." 

"Hum!"  said  Harleston  slowly.  "A  man  of 
Clephane's  habits  will  accuse  anyone  of  anything 
at  certain  times.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  wouldn't 
blame  Mrs.  Clephane,  nor  any  other  woman, 
for  chucking  such  a  husband  out  of  the  boat. 
It's  contrary  to  the  Acts  of  Assembly  in  such  cases 
made  and  provided,  but  it's  natural  justice  and 
amply  justifiable. " 

"You  don't  credit  it?"  Carpenter  asked. 

"I  can't.  Moreover,  didn't  she  change  in 
stantly  her  course  of  life  and  disappear  from  the 
gay  world?" 

"I  believe  that  is  so. " 

"And  hasn't  she  remained  disappeared?" 

Carpenter  nodded. 

"Then  I'm  inclined  to  give  her  the  benefit  of  the 


Carpenter  195 

doubt.  I'll  trust  her,  until  I've  seen  something 
to  warrant  distrust — bearing  in  mind,  however, 
what  you  have  just  told  me,  and  the  possibility 
of  my  being  mistaken.  I  reckon  I  can  veer 
quickly  enough  if " 

The  telephone  rang.  Carpenter  picked  up  the 
receiver. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Harleston  is  here,"  he  replied, 
passing  the  receiver  across. 

"Yes,"  said  Harleston.  "Oh,  how  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Clephane.  .  .  .  Very  nice,  indeed.  ...  Be 
delighted!  ...  In  ten  minutes,  I'll  be  there. 
Good-bye."  He  pushed  back  the  instrument. 
"Mrs.  Clephane  has  telephoned  that  she  must 
see  me  at  once.  Meanwhile — the  key-word,  my 
friend." 

Carpenter  drummed  on  the  table,  and  frowned 
at  the  door  that  had  closed  behind  Harleston. 

"The  man's  bewitched, "  he  muttered.  "How 
ever,  I  threw  a  slight  scare  into  him,  and  maybe 
it  will  make  him  pause;  he  is  not  quite  devoid  of 
sense.  Bah!  All  women  are  vampires." 


XIII 

THE  MARQUIS 

"MRS.  CLEPHANE  will  be  right  down,  Mr. 
Harleston, "  said  the  telephone  operator. 

A  moment  later  the  elevator  flashed  into  sight, 
and  Mrs.  Clephane  stepped  out  and  came  forward 
with  the  languorously  lithe  step,  perfectly  in  keep 
ing  with  her  slender  figure.  She  wore  a  dark  blue 
street  suit,  and  under  her  small  hat  her  glorious 
hair  flamed  like  an  incandescent  aureole.  She 
greeted  Harleston  with  an  intimate  little  nod 
and  smile. 

"You're  good  to  come!"  she  said. 

"To  myself,  I  think  I'm  more  than  good,"  he 
answered. 

"No,  no,  sir!"  she  smiled.  "No  more  compli 
ments  between  us,  if  we're  to  be  friends. " 

"We're  to  befriends,"  he  returned. 

"Ergo, "  she  replied.  "Sit  down  just  a  minute, 
will  you?" 

196 


The  Marquis  197 

"I'll  sit  down  for  a  month,  if  you're " 

"Ergo!  Ergo!"  she  reminded  him. 

"I  had  not  gotten  used  to  the  unusual  restric 
tion,  "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  You're  the  first  woman  ever 
I  met  or  heard  of  who  dislikes  compliments. " 

"I  don't  dislike  compliments,  Mr.  Harleston; 
but  compliments,  it  seems,  are  given  in  diplomacy 
for  a  purpose;  and  as  I  don't  understand  anything 
of  diplomacy  we  would  better  cut  them  out — until 
we  have  finished  with  diplomacy.  Then  you  may 
offer  as  many  as  you  like,  and  I'll  believe  them 
or  not  as  I'm  minded.  " 

"Have  it  as  you  wish!"  he  smiled,  looking  into 
the  brown  eyes  with  frank  admiration. 

"Compliments  may  be  conveyed  by  looks  as 
well  as  by  words,"  she  reproved. 

"But  of  the  feeling  that  prompts  the  look 
you  can  be  in  no  doubt.  Moreover,  a  look  is 
silent." 

"Nonsense,"  said  she.  "Besides,  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  favour.  You  see,  I'm  prepared  to  go 
out — and  I  want  you  to  go  with  me.  Will  you  do 
it?" 

"It  will  have  to  be  mightily  against  my  con 
science  to  make  me  refuse  you, "  Harleston  replied. 


198     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'm  glad  you  recognize  a  conscience,"  she 
remarked. 

"I  refer  to  my  diplomatic  conscience." 

"And  a  diplomatic  conscience  is  a  minus  quan 
tity,  "  she  observed. 

"What  is  it  you  would  of  me,  dear  lady?"  he 
asked. 

"I  would  that  you  should  go  with  me  to  the 
French  Ambassador,  and  help  me  to  explain  the — 
now  don't  say  you  won't,  Mr.  Harleston — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Clephane,  it  is — "  he  began. 

"It  is  not  impossible!"  she  declared.  "Why 
won't  you  do  it?" 

"For  your  sake  as  well  as  for  my  own,"  he 
explained.  "America  and  France  are  not  working 
together  in  this  matter,  and  for  me  to  accompany 
you  would  result  simply  in  your  being  obliged 
to  explain  me  as  well  as  the  letter,  besides  leading 
to  endless  complications  and  countless  suspicions. 
Didn't  I  expound  this  last  evening?" 

"You  did — also  much  more;  but  I've  thought 
over  it  almost  the  whole  night,  and  I  simply  must 
get  this  miserable  letter  off  my  mind.  Perhaps 
Mrs.  Spencer  has  forestalled  me  with  the  Ambas 
sador,  and  has  given  him  such  a  tale  as  will  insure 


The  Marquis  199 

my  being  shown  the  door;  nevertheless  I'll  risk 
it." 

"Why  don't  you  get  in  communication  with 
your  friend  Madame  Durrand, "  Harleston  sug 
gested,  "and  have  her,  if  she  hasn't  done  so 
already,  identify  you  to  the  Marquis?" 

"I  shall,  if  the  Marquis  is  sceptical.  I'll  admit 
that  I'm  pitiably  foolish,  but  I  don't  want  Mrs. 
Durrand  to  know  how  I've  bungled  her  matter 
until  the  bungle  is  corrected. " 

"I  can  quite  understand,"  said  Harleston  gently. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  are  right,"  she  murmured, 
"yet  I'm  afraid  to  go  alone. " 

"Take  some  other  friend  with  you;  some  well- 
known  man  who  can  vouch  for  your  identity. " 

' '  I  know  no  one  in  Washington  except  the  friends 
at  the  Shoreham,  and  they  are  not  residents 
here." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  any  prominent 
woman?" 

"No!  I've  lived  in  Europe  for  years — and 
while  I  have  met  over  there  women  from  Washing 
ton,  it's  been  only  casually.  They  won't  recollect 
me,  any  more  than  I  would  them,  for  purposes  of 
vouchment  or  identification. " 


2oo     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Then  go  alone." 

"I  will.  It  is  the  right  thing  to  do.  Yesterday 
I  was  thinking  that  you  had  the  letter  and  could 
return  it  to  me.  I  waited.  Today  I  can  appre 
ciate  your  reason  for  withholding  it — likewise  the 
necessity  for  me  to  go  to  the  Ambassador  with  my 
story.  And  I  shall  tell  him  the  whole  story;  he 
may  believe  it  or  not  as  he  is  inclined.  I'm  only  a 
volunteer  in  this  affair,  and  I've  decided  that  for 
me  the  course  of  discretion  and  frank  honesty 
is  much  wiser  than  silently  fighting  back.  Fur 
thermore,  it  does  not  estop  me  from  fighting  the 
Spencer  gang. " 

"You  have  made  a  wise  decision,"  Harleston 
commented.  "Tell  the  Ambassador,  and  be  quit 
of  the  affair — and  don't  fight  the  Spencer  gang, 
Mrs.  Clephane;  it  is  not  worth  while." 

She  arose,  and  he  went  with  her  down  the  corri 
dor  and  up  the  steps  to  the  entrance. 

"Every  action  is  suspected  and  distrusted  in 
diplomacy,"  he  said,  "therefore  I  may  not 
accompany  you.  Someone  would  be  sure  to  see 
us  and  report  to  the  Embassy  that  I  had  brought 
you — the  natural  effect  of  which  would  be  to  make 
the  Marquis  disbelieve  your  tale.  For  you  see, 


The  Marquis  201 

until  we  have  translated  the  letter,  we  cannot 
assume  that  America  is  not  concerned." 

"And  you  will  not  think  ill  of  me  for  dis 
closing  your  part  in  the  affair?"  she  asked. 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  smiled.  "Moreover, 
it  is  the  course  for  you  to  pursue;  to  hold  back  a 
single  thing  as  to  me  will  result  only  in  distrust. 
Indeed,  implicating  me  will  help  substantiate 
your  story." 

"You're  very  good  and  very  thoughtful,"  she 
murmured — and  once  more  suffered  him  to  look 
deep  into  her  eyes. 

"I  am  very  willing  for  you  to  think  me  both," 
he  replied.  "Now  I'm  going  to  call  a  taxi  at  the 
Fourteenth  Street  exit,  and  follow  yours  up 
Sixteenth  Street  until  I  see  you  at  the  French 
Embassy.  Tell  your  chauffeur  to  drive  down  to 
Twelfth  Street,  up  to  H  and  then  out  to  Sixteenth. 
My  taxi  will  be  loitering  on  Sixteenth  and  will 
pick  up  yours  as  it  passes  and  follow  it  to  the 
Embassy.  Once  there  you're  out  of  danger  of 
the  Spencer  gang.  And  let  me  impress  you  with 
this  fact:  tell  the  story  to  someone  of  the  staff. 
If  you  fail  to  get  to  the  Ambassador,  get  a  Secre 
tary  or  an  Attache. " 


2O2     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'll  try  to  find  someone  who  will  listen!"  she 
laughed. 

"And  I  rather  fancy  you  will  be  successful," 
he  smiled.  "It  would  be  a  most  unusual  sort  of 
man  who  won't  both  listen  and  look. " 

"Careful,  Mr.  Harleston!"  she  reminded. 

He  put  her  in  the  taxi;  bowed  and  turned  back 
into  the  hotel — wondering  why  he  had  ever  fancied 
Madeline  Spencer. 

Mrs.  Clephane  gave  her  orders  to  the  chauffeur, 
ending  with  the  injunction  to  drive  slowly. 

As  they  swung  into  Sixteenth  Street,  a  taxi 
standing  before  St.  John's  Episcopal  Church 
followed  them;  and  Mrs.  Clephane  recognized 
Harleston  as  its  occupant. 

At  the  French  Embassy  she  descended  and 
rang  the  bell,  and  was  instantly  admitted  by  a 
liveried  footman. 

"I  wish  to  see  his  Excellency  the  Ambassador!" 
she  said,  speaking  in  French. 

The  flunky  took  her  card  and  bowed  her  into  a 
small  reception  room. 

After  a  moment  or  so  a  dapper  young  man 
entered,  her  card  in  his  fingers. 

"Messes  Cleephane?"  he  inquired. 


The  Marquis  203 

"I  am  Mrs.  Clephane, "  she  replied  in  French. 
"I  wish  to  see  his  Excellency  the  Ambassador  on  a 
most  important  matter." 

"You  have  an  appointment  with  his  Excel 
lency?"  he  asked,  this  time  in  French. 

"You  are — "  she  inflected. 

"His  secretary,  madame, "  the  young  man 
bowed. 

"No,  I  have  not  an  appointment,"  she  replied, 
"but  I  come  from  Madame  Durrand  who  was  the 
bearer  of  a  cipher  letter  from  the  Foreign  Minister. 
Madame  Durrand  was  injured  as  she  was  about  to 
take  train  in  New  York,  and  gave  me  the  letter  to 
deliver. " 

The  secretary  looked  at  her  blandly  and  smiled 
faintly. 

"You  have  the  letter  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"Again,  no,"  she  replied.  "It  is  to  explain  its 
loss,  and  to  warn  the  Ambassador  that  I  am  here." 

"His  Excellency  is  exceedingly  busy — will  you 
not  relate  the  circumstances  to  me?" 

"My  instructions  from  Madame  Durrand  are 
most  specific  that  I  am  to  deal  only  with  his 
Excellency, "  Mrs.  Clephane  explained — with  such 
a  dazzling  smile  that  the  secretary's  eyes  fairly 


204     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

popped.  "Won't  you  please  tell  him  I'm  here,  and 
that  I  have  a  luncheon  engagement  at  one  o'clock." 

The  secretary  hesitated.  Again  the  smile  smote 
him  full  in  the  face — and  he  hesitated  no  longer. 

"Come  with  me,  Madame  Clephane,"  he  replied. 
"His  Excellency  is  occupied  at  present,  but  I'll 
deliver  your  message. " 

Once  more  the  smile — as  opening  the  door  for 
her  he  bowed  her  into  an  inner  office,  and  care 
fully  placed  a  chair  for  her. 

"A  moment,  madame, "  he  whispered,  dis 
appearing  through  an  adjoining  doorway. 

Whereat  Mrs.  Clephane  sighed  with  amused 
complacency,  and  waited. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  the  secretary 
appeared.  "His  Excellency  will  receive  you, 
Madame  Clephane, "  he  said. 

"I  thank  you — oh,  so  much!"  she  whispered 
as  she  passed  him — and  the  look  that  went  with 
the  words  cleared  all  her  scores — and  almost 
finished  him. 

So  much  for  a  smile — when  a  beautiful  woman 
smiles,  and  smiles  in  just  the  right  way,  and 
especially  when  the  man  smiled  on  is  a  Frenchman. 

The  Ambassador   was   standing    by   a    large, 


The  Marquis  205 

I 
flat-topped  desk  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  his 

back  was  to  the  light,  which  was  generously  given 
in  all  its  effulgence  to  his  visitors.  He  was  a 
small  man  and  slight  of  build,  intensely  nervous, 
with  well-cut  features,  gray  hair — what  there  was 
of  it — and  a  tiny  black  moustache  curled  up  at  the 
ends  but  not  waxed. 

He  came  briskly  forward  and  extended  his  hand. 

"My  dear  Madame  Ctephane, "  he  said  in 
French,  leading  her  to  a  chair,  "how  can  I  serve 
you?" 

"By  listening  to  my  story,  your  Excellency,  and 
believing  it,"  Mrs.  Clephane  answered, —  "and 
at  the  end  not  being  too  severe  on  me  for  my 
misfortune  and  ignorance. " 

"That  will  not  be  difficult,"  he  bowed,  with  a 
frank  look  of  admiration.  "You  come  from 
Madame  Durrand,  I  believe?" 

"Yes — you  know  Madame  Durrand?" 

The  Marquis  nodded.  "I  have  met  her  several 
times. " 

"I'm  glad!"  said  she.  "It  may  help  me  to 
prove  my  case. " 

"Madame  is  her  own  proof,"  was  the  answer. 

For  which  answer  he  drew  such  a  smile  from 


206     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Edith  Clephane  that  in  comparison  the  secre 
tary's  smile  was  simply  as  nothing. 

"Your  Excellency  overwhelms  me, "  she  replied. 
"I'm  positively  trembling  with  apprehension  lest 
I  fail  to — "  she  dropped  into  English — "make 
good." 

He  laughed  lightly.  "You  will  make  good!" 
he  replied,  also  in  English.  "Pray  proceed. " 

And  Mrs.  Clephane  told  him  the  whole  story, 
from  the  time  she  met  Madame  Durrand  on  the 
steamer  to  the  present  moment — omitting  only  the 
immaterial  personal  portions  occurring  between 
Harleston  and  herself,  and  the  fact  that  his  taxi 
had  escorted  hers  until  she  was  at  the  Embassy. 

Her  narrative  was  punctuated  throughout  by 
the  Marquis's  constant  exclamations  of  wonder 
or  interest;  but  further  than  exclaiming,  in  the 
nervous  French  way,  he  made  no  interruption. 

And  on  the  whole,  she  told  her  story  well;  at 
first  she  was  a  little  nervous,  which  made  her  some 
what  at  a  loss  for  words;  yet  that  soon  passed,  and 
her  tale  flowed  along  with  delightful  ease. 

"Now  you  have  been  a  wonderfully  gracious 
listener,  your  Excellency,"  she  ended,  "ask  what- 


The  Marquis  207 

ever  questions  you  wish  in  regard  to  the  matter;  I 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  answer  if  I  am  able. " 

"Madame's  narrative  has  been  most  detailed 
and  most  satisfactory,"  the  Marquis  answered. 
"But  let  me  ask  you  to  explain,  if  you  can,  why 
Madame  Durrand  has  not  made  a  written  report 
of  this  matter  to  the  Embassy?" 

"I  have  no  idea — unless  she  is  ill." 

"Broken  bones  do  not  usually  prevent  one  from 
writing,  or  dictating,  a  letter.  " 

"It  is  peculiar!"  Mrs.  Clephane  admitted. 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  hospital?"  the  Mar 
quis  asked. 

"In  the  hurry  and  excitement  I  quite  forgot  to 
ask  the  name, "  she  replied.  "The  station  officials 
selected  it.  I  was  thinking  of  her — Madame 
Durrand,  I  mean — more  than  the  name  of  the 
hospital.  I  don't  even  know  the  street;  though 
it's  somewhere  in  the  locality  of  the  station.  It 
is  dreadfully  stupid  of  me,  your  Excellency,  not  to 
know — but  I  don't. " 

"We  can  remedy  that  very  readily, "he  said, 
and  pressed  a  button.  His  secretary  responded. 
"Telephone  our  Consul-General  in  New  York  to 
ascertain  immediately  from  the  railroad  officials 


208     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  hospital  to  which  Madame  Durrand,  who 
broke  her  ankle  and  wrist  in  the  Pennsylvania 
Station,  at  ten  o'clock  on  Monday,  was  taken." 

The  secretary  saluted  and  withdrew. 

"Might  not  our  friend's  the  enemy  have  bribed 
someone  to  suppress  Madame  Durrand's  letter  or 
wire?"  Mrs.  Clephane  asked. 
.    "Very  possibly.     It  is  entirely  likely  that  they 
wouldn't  be  apt  to  stop  with  the  accident. " 

"You  think  they  were  responsible  for  Madame 
Durrand's  fall?"  she  exclaimed. 
f    "Have   you   forgotten   the   man   who   jostled 
Madame  Durrand?"  the  Marquis  reminded. 

"To  be  sure!  How  stupid  not  to  think  of  it. 
You  see,  your  Excellency,  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  the  ways  of  diplomacy  and  to  assuming  every 
one's  a  rogue  until  he  proves  otherwise. " 

"You  have  a  poor  opinion  of  diplomats!"  he 
smiled. 

"Not  of  diplomats,  only  of  their  professional 
ways.  And  as  they  all  have  the  same  ways,  it's 
fair,  I  suppose,  among  one  another. " 

"Did  you  tell  Monsieur  Harleston  your  opinion 
of  our  vocation?"  he  asked. 

"I  did — somewhat  more  emphatically." 


The  Marquis  209 

"And  what,  if  you  care  to  tell,  did  he  say  ? " 

"He  quite  agreed  with  me;  he  even  went 
further. " 

"Wise  man,  Harleston!"  the  Marquis  chuckled. 

"Implying  that  he  was  not  sincere?" 

The  Marquis  threw  up  his  hands.  "Perish 
the  thought!  I  imply  that  he  is  a  man  of  rare 
discrimination  and  admirable  taste." 

"Now  won't  you  please  tell  me,  your  Excellency, 
if  you  credit,  no,  if  you  believe,  my  story — and 
don't  be  a  diplomat  for  the  telling. " 

"My  dear  Madame  Clephane,  I  do  believe  your 
tale — it  bears  the  impress  of  truth  in  what  you've 
not  done,  as  well  as  in  what  you've  done.  Had 
you  ever  been  in  the  service  you  would  recognize 
my  meaning.  That  the  abductors  did  not  triumph 
was  due  first  to  their  carelessness,  and  second  to 
chance,  in  the  person  of  Monsieur  Harleston.  He 
plays  the  game;  and  is  violating  no  rule  of  diplo 
macy  by  his  course  in  the  affair.  Indeed  he  would 
be  recreant  to  his  country's  service  were  he  to  do 
otherwise.  And  France  would  infinitely  prefer 
the  United  States  to  have  the  letter  rather  than 
Germany.  It's  unfortunate,  but  it's  not  as 
unfortunate  as  it  might  be. " 


14 

/ 


210     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"You  make  me  feel  much,  oh,  so  much  better!" 
Mrs.  Clephane  replied.  ' '  I  feared  lest  my  blunder 
could  never  be  forgiven  nor  forgotten;  and  that 
Madame  Durrand  would  be  held  responsible  and 
would  never  again  be  trusted." 

The  Ambassador  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 
"I  think  you  need  not  worry,"  he  replied. 

"And  I'm  perfectly  sure,  your  Excellency,  that 
if  the  United  States  is  neither  directly  or  indirectly 
concerned  in  the  matter  of  the  letter,  and  if  you 
were  to  submit  a  translation  of  the  letter  to  prove 
it,  Mr.  Harleston  will  deliver  to  you  the  original. " 

' '  Did  Monsieur  Harleston  tell  you  so  ? "  the  Mar 
quis  smiled. 

"No,  oh,  no!     I  only  thought  that " 

" — in  this  one  instance  diplomats  would  trust 
each  other?"  he  interjected.  "Alas,  no!  Mon 
sieur  Harleston  would  only  assume  the  translation 
to  be  false  and  given  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
deception.  I  should  assume  exactly  the  same, 
were  our  positions  reversed. " 

"Couldn't  you  prove  your  translation  by  giving 
him  the  key  to  the  cipher?"  she  asked. 

"My  dear  madame, "  the  Marquis  smiled,  "such 
a  thing  would  be  unprecedented — and  would  mean 


The  Marquis  211 

my  instant  dismissal  from  the  service,  and  trial 
for  treason. " 

She  made  a  gesture  of  defeat.  "Well,  you 
can  at  least  have  the  letter  repeated  by  cable." 

"Also  we  can  cable  the  government  to  dispatch 
another  letter,"  the  Ambassador  soothed.  "There 
are  plenty  of  ways  out  of  the  difficulty,  so  don't 
give  yourself  any  concern — and  the  United  States 
is  welcome  to  the  letter.  It  will  be  a  far  day,  I 
assure  you,  ere  its  cipher  bureau  translates  it." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock.     Mrs.  Clephane  arose. 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  mess  I  have  made, "  she  said. 

"Don't  give  it  a  thought, "  he  assured  her.  "If 
you  can  help  us,  you  will  be  where?" 

"I  will  be  at  the  Chateau  until  this  matter  is 
straightened  out — and  subject  to  your  instant 
call." 

"Good — you  are  more  than  kind;  France  appre 
ciates  it. " 

He  took  her  hand,  escorted  her  with  gracious 
courtesy  to  the  door,  and  bowed  her  out. 

Then  he  stepped  to  his  desk  and  rang  twice. 

The  First  Secretary  entered. 

"Did  you  hear  her  entire  story?"  the  Marquis 
asked. 


212     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I  did,  sir,"  the  First  Secretary  replied. 

"You  believe  it?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then  set  Pasquier  to  work  to  ascertain  what 
this  Madame  Spencer  is  about.  Let  him  report 
as  quickly  as  he  has  anything  definite.  I'll  cable 
Paris  at  once  as  to  the  letter." 


XIV 

THE  SLIP  OF  PAPER 

MADELINE  SPENCER,  leaning  languidly  against 
the  mahogany  table  in  the  corner  of  the  drawing- 
room,  drummed  softly  with  her  finger  tips  as  she 
listened. 

"What  is  the  use  of  it  all ? "  Marston  was  asking. 
"We  can't  get  the  letter.  Harleston  evidently 
told  the  truth;  he  has  turned  it  over  to  the  State 
Department,  so  why  not  be  content  that  it's  there, 
and  let  well  enough  alone?" 

"I've  been  letting  well  enough  alone  by  occupy 
ing  them  with  the  notion  that  the  letter  is  the  thing 
most  desired."  Mrs.  Spencer  returned.  "Mud 
dying  the  water,  as  it  were,  so  as  to  obscure  the 
main  issue  and  get  away  with  the  trick.  Direct 
your  attention  here,  if  you  please,  gentlemen! 
Meanwhile  we  escape  from  the  other  end. " 

"Mrs.  Clephane  was  at  the  French  Embassy 
this  afternoon,"  he  observed. 


214     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"At  last  she  had  a  glimmering  of  sense!"  Mrs. 
Spencer  laughed.  "Why  she  didn't  beat  it  there 
direct  from  the  train  I  can't  imagine.  Such 
ignorance  is  a  large  asset  for  those  of  us  who  know. 
I  had  thought  of  impersonating  her  and  amusing 
myself  with  d'Hausonville,  but  I  concluded  it 
wasn't  worth  while.  It  riles  me,  however,  that 
the  affair  was  so  atrociously  bungled  by  Crenshaw 
and  the  others.  What  possessed  them  to  release 
Mrs.  Clephane  once  they  had  her? — and  what  in 
Heaven's  name  made  them  overlook  the  letter  in 
the  cab?" 

' '  Search  me ! "   Marston  replied. 

"There  is  no  occasion  to  search  you,  Marston, " 
she  smiled.  ' '  I  shouldn't  find  very  much  except — 
placidity. " 

"Placidity  has  its  advantages,"  he  smiled  back. 

"It  has;  that's  why  I  asked  the  Chief  for  you. 
You  were  not  as  happy  in  your  choice  of  assistants, 
Marston.  They  are  a  stupid  lot.  You  may  send 
them  back  to  New  York.  We'll  handle  this  matter 
ourselves,  with  Mrs.  Chartrand's  involuntary 
assistance. " 

"Very  good,  madame!"  said  Marston.  "The 
trouble,  you  see,  came  with  that  chap  Harleston's 


The  Slip  of  Paper  215 

butting  into  the  affair.  Who  would  have  foreseen 
that  he  would  happen  along  just  at  that  particular 
moment  and  scoop  the  letter  without  turning  a 
hair.  It  was  rotten  luck  sure." 

"It  was  all  easy  enough  if  the  blundering  fools 
had  only  exercised  an  atom  of  sense,"  Mrs. 
Spencer  retorted.  "Mrs.  Clephane  couldn't 
deceive  a  normal  two-year-old  child;  she  is  as 
transparent  as  plate  glass. " 

"She  was  clever  enough  to  get  rid  of  the  letter 
in  the  cab,  and  to  give  them  the  plausible  story 
that  it  was  locked  in  the  hotel  safe.  And  the  hotel 
safe  was  the  reasonable  place  for  her  to  leave  the 
letter  until  she  had  seen  the  Ambassador,  and 
someone  from  the  Embassy  could  return  with  her 
and  get  the  letter. " 

"Granted — if  Mrs.  Clephane  were  a  wise  woman 
and  in  the  service.  She  isn't  wise  and  she  isn't 
in  the  service;  and  both  these  facts  are  so  apparent 
that  he  who  runs  may  read.  She  played  the  Buis- 
sards  for  fools  and  won.  If  they  had  exercised 
the  intelligence  of  an  infant,  they'd  have  known 
that  she  had  the  letter  with  her  when  she  left  the 
hotel.  You  got  a  glimmer  of  light  when  you 
thought  of  the  cab — and  Mrs.  Clephane  told 


21 6     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

you  that  Mr.  Harleston  had  stopped  and  looked 
at  the  sleeping  horse  and  then  started  him  toward 
Dupont  Circle.  You  came  to  me  to  report — and 
I,  knowing  Harleston,  solved  the  remainder 
of  the  mystery.  But  with  Harleston's  entry 
the  affair  assumed  quite  a  different  aspect;  and 
it  is  no  reflection  on  you,  Marston,  that  your 
expedition  to  his  apartment  didn't  succeed; 
though  somewhat  later  Crenshaw  did  act  as  a 
semi-reasonable  man,  and  secured  the  letter — 
only  to  foozle  again  like  an  imbecile.  The  play  in 
the  hotel  last  night,  as  schemed  by  us,  should 
have  gone  through  and  eliminated  Clephane 
and  Harleston  for  a  time;  but  Harleston  upset 
things  by  his  quick  action  and  sense  of  danger — 
— moreover,  he  guessed  as  to  Clephane,  for  the 
management  got  wise  and  made  a  search,  and  the 
dear  lady  found  Harleston  and  me  in  Peacock 
Alley — and  she  pre-empted  him." 

Marston  blinked  and  said  nothing. 

"Why  don't  you  say  something?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

"What  is  there  to  say  that  you  don't  already 
know, "  he  replied  placidly. 

"Very  little,    Marston,   about  the  subject  in 


The  Slip  of  Paper  217 

hand,"  she  replied  curtly.  "And  now  let  us  see 
how  matters  stand  to  date.  First — the  French 
Ambassador  knows  that  a  cipher  letter  to  him 
from  his  Foreign  Minister  has  been  intercepted 
and  is  in  the  hands  of  the  American  State  Depart 
ment.  Second — as  it  is  in  letter  cipher,  there 
isn't  much  likelihood  of  it  being  translated. 
Third — the  matter  covered  by  the  letter  must 
be  something  that  they  are  reluctant  to  send 
by  cable;  for  you  know,  Marston,  that  the 
United  States,  in  common  with  European  nations, 
requires  all  telegraph  and  cable  companies  to 
forward  immediately  to  the  State  Department  a 
copy  of  every  cipher  message  addressed  to  a  foreign 
official.  Maybe  they  are  not  able  to  translate 
it,  but  of  that  the  sending  nation  cannot  be  sure 
and  it  makes  it  very  careful,  particularly  when  the 
local  government  is  affected.  Fourth — France 
will  have  to  choose  between  consuming  a  week 
in  getting  another  letter  from  Paris  to  Washington, 
or  she  will  have  to  chance  the  cable  with  the  risk  of 
America  learning  her  message. " 

"What  do  you  think  France  will  do?"  Marston 
asked. 

"If  the  letter  concerned  my  mission,  she  will 


218      The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

risk  the  cable,"  Mrs.  Spencer  replied.  "She 
would  far  rather  disclose  the  affair  to  the  United 
States,  than  to  let  Germany  succeed. " 

"May  she  not  be  content  now  to  warn  the 
United  States?"  suggested  Marston. 

"It's  quite  possible.  All  depends  whether  the 
letter  concerns  my  mission.  We  have  been 
informed  by  the  Wilhelm-strasse  that  it  probably 
does,  and  directed  to  prevent  its  delivery  to  the 
French  Ambassador.  We've  succeeded  in  prevent 
ing,  but  bungled  it  over  to  the  United  States 
— the  one  country  that  we  shouldn't  have  aroused. 
What  in  the  devil's  name  ails  your  assistants, 
Marston — particularly  Crenshaw  ? ' ' 

"To  be  quite  candid,"  Marston  replied,  "he 
had  a  grouch ;  he  thought  that  Sparrow  and  I  flub- 
dubbed  the  matter  of  the  cab,  and  deliberately 
tried  to  lose  him  when  we  went  to  the  Colling  wood. 
And  when  he  did  come,  he  drew  his  gun  on  us  until 
he  understood." 

1 '  What  ? "  she  exclaimed. 

"He  thought  that  it  was  a  scheme  of  Sparrow 
to  injure  him  in  your  eyes.  It  seems  that  he  and 
Sparrow  are  jealous  of  your  beautiful  eyes. " 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  she  demanded. 


The  Slip  of  Paper  219 

"What  have  I,  or  my  beautiful  eyes,  to  do  with 
Crenshaw  and  Sparrow?" 

"What  usually  happens  to  the  men  who  are 
associated  with  you  in  any  enterprise:  they  get 
daffy  over  you. " 

"Because  they  get  daffy  over  me  is  no  excuse 
for  stupid  execution,  of  the  business  in  hand," 
she  shrugged.  "  You  never  have  been  guilty  of 
stupidity,  Marston. " 

"Because  I've  managed  never  to  be  a  fool  about 
you — however  much  I  have  been  tempted  to 
become  one." 

"Have  been,  Marston?"  she  inflected. 

"Have  been — and  am,"  he  bowed.  "I'm  not 
different  from  the  rest — only " 

She  curled  herself  on  a  divan,  and  languidly 
stretched  her  slender  rounded  arms  behind  the 
raven  hair. 

"Only  what,  Marston?"  she  murmured. 

"Only  I  know  when  the  game  is  beyond  me. " 

"So,  to  you,  I'm  a  game?" 

"Of  an  impossible  sort, "  he  replied.  "I  admire 
at  a  distance — and  keep  my  head. " 

"And  your  heart,  too,  man  ami?" 

"My  heart  is  the  servant  of  my  head.     When  it 


220     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ceases  so  to  be,  I  shall  ask  to  be  detached  from 
the  Paris  station." 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  your  present  assign 
ment?" 

"Much  more  than  satisfied;  very  much  more 
than  satisfied." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  smiled 
ravishingly. 

"We  understand  each  other  now,  Marston,"  she 
said  simply;  which  tied  Marston  only  the  tighter 
to  her — as  she  well  knew.  And  Marston  knew  it, 
too.  Also  he  knew  that  he  had  not  the  shade  of  a 
chance  with  her — and  that  she  knew  that  he  knew 
it.  It  was  Madeline  Spencer's  experience  with 
men  that  such  as  she  tried  for  she  usually  got. 
There  were  exceptions,  but  them  she  could  count 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Harleston — though 
for  a  time  he  was  on  the  verge  of  submission — was 
an  exception.  And  for  that  she  was  ready  to  rend 
him  at  the  fitting  opportunity;  the  more  so  be 
cause  her  own  feelings  had  been  aroused.  As  they 
were  once  before  with  Armand  Dalberg — who  had 
calmly  put  her  in  her  place,  and  tumbled  her 
schemes  about  her  ears. 

All  her  life  there  would  be  a  weak  spot  in  her 


The  Slip  of  Paper  221 

heart  for  Dalberg;  and,  such  is  the  peculiarly 
inconsistent  nature  of  the  female,  a  hatred  that 
fed  itself  on  his  scorn  of  her. 

She  had  dared  much  with  Dalberg — and  often; 
and  always  she  had  lost.  The  Duke  of  Lotzen 
was  only  a  means  to  an  end :  money  and  exquisite 
ease.  Left  with  ample  wealth  on  his  decease,  she, 
for  her  excitement  and  to  be  in  affairs,  had  mixed 
in  diplomacy,  and  had  quickly  become  an  expert 
in  tortuous  moves  of  the  tortuous  game. 

Then  one  day  she  encountered  Harleston,  and 
bested  him.  With  a  rare  good  nature  for  a  diplo 
mat,  he  had  taken  his  defeat  with  a  smile,  at  the 
same  time  observing  her  manifold  attractions  with 
a  careful  eye  and  an  indulgent  mind  for  the  past. 
Which  caused  her  to  look  at  him  again,  and  to 
think  of  him  frequently;  and  at  last  to  want  him 
for  her  own — after  a  little  while.  And  he  had  ap 
peared  not  averse  to  the  wanting — after  a  little 
while.  Now,  just  as  he  was  about  to  succumb, 
he  was  suddenly  whisked  away  by  another  woman 
— that  woman  simply  a  later  edition  of  herself: 
the  same  figure,  the  same  poise,  the  same  methods, 
the  same  allurements;  but  younger  in  years, 
fresher,  and,  she  admitted  it  to  herself,  less 


222     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

acquainted  with  tne  ways  of  men.  And  now 
she  had  lost  him;  and  never  would  she  be  able  to 
get  him  back.  Another  woman  had  filched  him 
from  her — filched  him  forever  from  her,  she  knew. 

Therefore  she  hated  Mrs.  Clephane  with  a  glow 
ing  hate. 

"Have  you  seen  the — man?"  Marston  asked, 
when  her  attention  came  back  to  him. 

She  nodded.  "I've  had  a  communication  from 
him." 

1 '  Anything  doing  ? ' ' 

"Not  yet.  He  will  duly  apprise  me.  Mean 
while  we,  or  rather  I,  am  to  remain  quiet  and  wait 
expectantly. " 

"He  thinks  you  are  alone?" 

"Of  course.  He  would  be  off  like  a  colt  if  he 
thought  that  I  had  a  corps  of  assistants." 

"The  longer  the  delay  the  more  chance  France 
has  to  repeat  the  letter  by  cable,"  Marston 
remarked. 

"Certainly — but  I  shan't  be  fool  enough  to  tell 
him  so,  or  anything  as  to  the  letter.  He  would 
end  negotiations  instantly." 

.  "When  are  you  to  see  him?" 

"This  afternoon  at  three." 


The  Slip  of  Paper  223 

"At  Chartrands?" 

"No,  in  Union  Station." 

"It's  a  long  way  to  go,"  Marston  observed. 

"So  I  intimated,  but  without  avail." 

"Is  he  afraid?" 

"No,  only  inexperienced  in  deception  and  over 
cautious.  Moreover,  it  is  a  serious  business." 

"Particularly  since  Harleston  is  on  the  trail?" 
Marston  added. 

Mrs.  Spencer  nodded  again.  "We'll  pray  that 
he  does  not  uncover  the  matter  until  we  are  up 
and  away." 

"If  we  pray,  it  should  be  effective!"  Marston 
laughed. 

"It  likely  will  be — one  way  or  the  other,"  she 
returned  drily.  "However,  if  we  are  careful,  a 
prayer  more  or  less  won't  effect  much  dam 
age.  It's  really  up  to  the — man  in  the  case. 
If  he  can  get  away  with  it,  we  can  manage 
the  rest." 

"And  if  he  can't?" 

"Then  there  will  be  nothing  on  us,  unless  the 
Clephane  letter  is  translated  and  implicates  me  by 
name — or  Paris  resorts  to  cable.  If  it  were  not 
for  France's  meddling,  it  would  be  ridiculously 


224     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

simple  so  far  as  we  are  concerned;  everything 
would  be  up  to  the  man. " 

"And  you  do  not  know  who  the  man  is,  nor 
what  he  is  about  to  betray?"  Marston  asked. 

"I  do  not — nor  am  I  in  the  least  inquisitive, 
despite  the  fact  that  I'm  a  woman.  I  haven't 
even  so  much  as  tried  to  guess.  I  was  ordered 
here  under  express  instructions;  which  are  to  meet 
someone  who  will  communicate  with  me  by  letter 
in  which  a  certain  phrase  will  occur.  There 
after  I  am  to  be  guided  by  him  and  the  cir 
cumstances  until  I  receive  from  him  a  certain 
package,  when  I  am  instantly  to  depart  the  coun 
try  and  hurry  straight  to  Berlin.  Whether  I  am 
to  receive  a  copy  of  a  secret  treaty  between  our 
friends  or  our  enemies,  a  diplomatic  secret  of  high 
importance,  a  report  on  the  fortifications  or  forces 
of  another  nation,  or  what  it  is,  I  haven't  the 
slightest  idea.  It's  all  in  the  game — and  the  game 
fascinates  me;  its  dangers  and  its  uncertainty. 
Some  other  nation  wants  what  Germany  is  about 
to  get;  some  other  nation  seeks  to  prevent  its 
betrayal;  some  other  nation  seeks  to  block  us; 
someone  else  would  even  murder  us  to  gain  a 
point — and  our  own  employer  would  not  raise  a 


The  Slip  of  Paper  225 

hand  to  seek  retribution,  or  even  to  acknowledge 
that  we  had  died  in  her  cause.  They  laud  the 
soldier  who  dies  for  his  flag,  but  he  who  dies  in 
the  secret  service  of  a  government  is  never  heard 
of.  He  disappears;  for  the  peace  or  the  repu 
tation  of  nations  his  name  is  not  upon  the  public 
rolls  of  the  good  and  faithful  servants.  It's 
risky,  Marston;  it's  thankless;  it's  without  glory 
and  without  fame;  nevertheless  it's  a  fascin 
ating  game;  the  stakes  are  incalculable,  the 
remuneration  is  the  best." 

"You're  quite  right  as  to  those  high  up  in  the 
service,"  Marston  remarked,  "the  remuneration, 
I  mean,  but  not  as  to  us  poor  devils  who  are  only 
the  pawns.  We  not  only  have  no  glory  nor  hon 
our,  but  considering  the  danger  and  what  we  do 
we  are  mightily  ill  paid,  my  lady,  mightily  ill  paid. 
The  fascination  and  danger  of  the  game,  as  you 
say,  is  what  holds  us.  At  any  rate,  it's  what  holds 
me — and  the  pleasure  of  working  sometimes  with 
you,  and  what  that  means." 

"And  we  always  win  when  together  because 
we  are  in  accord,"  she  smiled,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  him.      "Team  work,   my  good  friend, 
team  work!" 
is 


226     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

He  took  the  hand,  and  bending  over  raised  it  to 
his  lips  with  an  air  of  fine  courtesy  and  absolute 
devotion. 

"And  we  shall  win  this  time,  Marston, "  she 
went  on,  "we  shall  sail  for  Europe  before  the  week 
is  ended — I'm  sure  of  it. " 

"I  shall  be  satisfied  if  we  never  sail — or  sail 
always,"  he  returned,  and  slowly  released  her 
fingers  and  stepped  back. 

She  paid  him  with  a  ravishing  smile ;  and  Made 
line  Spencer,  when  she  wished,  could  smile  a  man 
into  fire — and  out  again.  It  was  too  soon  for  the 
"out  again"  with  Marston.  He  was  very  useful 
— he  was  not  restless,  nor  demanding,  nor  sensitive, 
nor  impatient  of  others,  nor  jealous.  He  was  like 
a  faithful  dog,  who  adores  and  adores,  and  pleads 
only  to  be  allowed  to  adore.  Moreover,  he  was 
a  capable  man  and  trustworthy;  dependable  and 
far  above  his  class.  Therefore  she  took  care  that 
his  chains  should  be  silken,  yet  at  the  same  time 
that  he  be  not  permitted  to  graze  too  far  afield. 

"I  wonder,"  Marston  was  saying,  after  a  little 
thought,  "if  Carpenter,  the  Chief  of  the  Secret 
Bureau  of  their  State  Department,  might  be 
purchasable — if  we  made  him  a  good  stiff  bid?" 


The  Slip  of  Paper  227 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "It  isn't  likely, 
however;  he  is  too  old  and  tried  an  official  to  be 
venal.  Furthermore  we  haven't  any  money  at 
hand,  and  my  instructions  are  to  act  independently 
of  the  German  Embassy,  and  under  no  circum 
stances  whatever  to  communicate  with  it.  In  such 
business  as  we  are  engaged,  the  Embassy  never 
knows  us  nor  of  our  plans.  They  don't  dare  to 
know;  and  they  will  calmly  deny  us  if  we  appeal 
to  them. " 

"The  money  might  be  arranged,"  Marston 
suggested.  "You  could  cable  to  Berlin  for  it — 
and  have  it  cabled  back. " 

"It  might  be  done,"  said  she  thoughtfully. 
"You  mean  to  try  Carpenter  for  a  copy  of  the 
cipher  letter?" 

"It  won't  do  any  particular  harm,  as  I  see  it; 
it  can't  make  us  any  worse  off  and  it  may  give  us 
the  letter.  It's  worth  the  trial,  it  seems  to  me." 

"But  if  Carpenter  has  not  succeeded  in  finding 
the  key- word,  how  will  the  letter  help?  Do  you 
expect  to  bribe  the  French  Embassy  also?" 

"It  may  not  be  necessary,"  he  replied.  "I 
know  a  number  of  keys  of  French  ciphers;  one  of 
thern  may  fit. " 


228     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Very  well,"  said  she  quietly;  "you  are  em 
powered  to  have  a  try  at  Carpenter. " 

"Good — I'll  start  after  it  at  once.  Any  further 
orders,  madame?" 

"None  till  evening,"  again  holding  out  her 
hand — and  again  smiling  him  into  kissing  it 
adoringly. 

"A  useful  man,  Marston!"  she  reflected  when 
the  door  closed  behind  him.  "And  one  who  never 
presumes.  A  smile  pays  him  for  anything,  and 
keeps  him  devoted  to  me.  Yes,  a  very  useful  and 
satisfactory  man.  His  idea  of  corrupting  Car 
penter  may  be  rather  futile ;  and  he  may  get  into 
a  snarl  by  trying  it,  but,"  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shapely  shoulders,  "that  is  his  affair  and  won't 
involve  me.  And  if  he  should  prove  successful,  the 
new  French  key-word  which  the  Count,  the  dear 
Count,  gave  me  just  before  I  left  Paris,  may  turn 
the  trick." 

The  Count  de  M was  confidential  secretary 

to  the  Foreign  Minister,  and  he  had  slipped  her  the 
bit  of  paper  containing  the  key-word  at  a  ball,  two 
evenings  before  she  sailed  on  her  present  mission. 
He  was  not  aware  that  she  was  sailing,  nor  was 
she;  the  order  came  so  suddenly  that  she  and  her 


The  Slip  of  Paper  229 

maid  had  barely  time  to  fling  a  few  things  in  a 
couple  of  steamer  trunks  and  catch  the  last  train. 
She  had  fascinated  the  Count;  for  a  year  he  had 
been  one  of  her  most  devoted,  but  most  discreet, 
admirers.  He  also  was  exceedingly  serviceable. 
Hence  she  took  pains  to  hold  him. 

Languidly  she  reached  for  her  little  gold  mesh 
bag — the  one  thing  that  never  left  her — and  from 
a  secret  pocket  took  several  slips  of  paper. 

"Why,  where  is  it!"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
again  with  greater  care.  .  .  .  "The  devil!  I've 
lost  it!" 

However,  after  a  moment  of  thought,  she 
recalled  the  key- word,  and  the  rule  that  he  whis 
pered  to  her — also  the  squeeze  he  gave  her  hand, 
and  the  kiss  with  the  eyes.  The  Count  had  fine 
eyes — he  could  look  much,  very  much.  .  .  .  She 
smiled  in  retrospection.  .  .  .  Yet  how  did  she  drop 
that  bit  of  paper — and  where?  ...  Or  did  she 
drop  it?  .  .  .  All  the  rest  were  there.  It  was 
very  peculiar.  .  .  .  She  had  referred"  to  the  De 
Neviers  slip  on  last  Saturday — and  she  distinctly 
remembered  that  the  Count's  was  there  at  that 
time.  Consequently  she  must  have  dropped  it  on 
Sunday  when  she  was  studying  the  Rosny  matter, 


230     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

and  then  she  was  in  this  room — and  Marston  and 
Crenshaw  and  Sparrow  were  in  the  next  room. — 
H-u-m.  .  .  .  Well,  the  Count  wrote  in  a  woman's 
hand;  and  the  finder  cannot  make  anything  out 
of  the  words : 
A  Vaube  du  jour. 


XV 

IDENTIFIED 

So  it  happened,  that  on  the  same  day  and 
practically  at  the  same  hour  Carpenter  gave 
instructions  looking  to  the  pilfering  of  the  French 
private  diplomatic  cipher,  Marston  began  to  lay 
plans  to  test  Carpenter's  venality,  and  Madeline 
Spencer  betook  herself  to  Union  Station  to 
meet  the  man-in-the-case,  whose  face  she  had 
never  seen,  and  whose  name  she  did  not  know. 

She  went  a  roundabout  way,  walking  down  F 
Street  and  stopping  to  make  some  trifling  purchases 
in  two  or  three  shops.  She  could  not  detect  that 
she  was  being  followed,  but  she  went  into  a  large 
department  store,  and  spent  considerable  time  in 
matching  some  half-dozen  shades  of  ribbon.  On 
the  way  out  she  stepped  into  a  telephone  booth, 
and  directed  the  dispatcher  at  the  Chateau  to  send 
a  taxi  to  Brentano's  for  Mrs.  Williams.  By  the 
time  she  had  leisurely  crossed  the  street  the  taxi 

231 


232     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

was  there;  getting  in,  she  gave  the  order  to  drive 
to  Union  Station  by  way  of  Sixteenth  Street 
and  Massachusetts  Avenue.  As  she  passed  the 
Chateau,  she  saw  Mrs.  Clephane  and  Harleston 
coming  out;  a  bit  farther  on  they  shot  by  in  a 
spanking  car. 

She  drew  back  to  avoid  recognition;  but  they 
were  too  much  occupied  with  each  other,  she 
observed,  even  to  notice  the  occupant  of  the  humble 
but  high-priced  taxi.  At  Scott  Circle  their  car 
swung  westward  and  disappeared  down  Massa 
chusetts  Avenue;  she  turned  eastward,  toward  to 
morrow's  rising  sun,  Union  Station,  and  the 
rendezvous — with  hate  in  her  heart  for  the  woman 
who  had  displaced  her,  and  a  firm  resolve  to 
square  accounts  at  the  first  opportunity.  Mrs. 
Clephane  might  be  innocent,  likely  was  innocent 
of  any  intention  to  come  between  Harleston 
and  her,  but  that  did  not  relieve  Mrs.  Clephane 
from  punishment,  nor  herself  from  the  chagrin 
of  defeat  and  the  sorrow  of  blasted  hopes.  The 
balance  was  against  her;  and,  be  it  man  or  woman, 
she  always  tried  to  balance  up  promptly  and  a  little 
more — when  the  balancing  did  not  interfere 
with  the  business  on  which  she  was  employed. 


Identified  233 

Madeline  Spencer,  for  one  of  her  sort,  was  excep 
tional  in  this :  she  always  kept  faith  with  the  hand 
that  paid  her. 

At  Union  Station  she  dismissed  the  taxi  and 
walked  briskly  to  the  huge  waiting-room.  There 
she  dropped  the  briskness,  and  went  leisurely 
down  its  long  length  to  the  drug  stand,  where 
she  bought  a  few  stamps  and  then  passed  out 
through  the  middle  aisle  to  the  train  shed,  inquir 
ing  on  the  way  of  an  attendant  the  time  of  the  next 
express  from  Baltimore.  To  his  answer  she  didn't 
attend,  nevertheless  she  thanked  him  graciously, 
and  seeing  the  passengers  were  beginning  to  crowd 
through  the  gates  from  an  incoming  train  she 
turned  toward  them,  as  if  she  were  expecting  some 
one.  Which  was  true — only  it  was  not  by  train. 

It  had  been  five  minutes  past  the  hour,  by  the 
big  clock  in  the  station,  when  she  crossed  the 
waiting-room;  by  the  time  the  crowd  had  passed 
the  gates,  and  there  was  no  excuse  for  remaining, 
another  five  had  gone.  The  appointment  was  for 
three  exactly.  She  had  not  been  concerned  to 
keep  it  to  the  minute,  but  the  man  should  have 
been;  as  a  woman,  it  was  her  prerogative  to  be 
careless  as  to  such  matters;  moreover  she  had 


234     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

found  it  an  advantage,  as  a  rule,  to  be  a  trifle  late, 
except  with  her  superiors  or  those  to  whom  either 
by  position  or  expediency  it  was  well  to  defer. 
With  such  she  was  always  on  time — and  a  trifle 
more. 

As  she  turned  away,  a  tall,  fine-looking,  well 
set-up,  dark-haired,  clean-cut,  young  chap,  who 
had  just  rounded  the  news-stand,  grabbed  off  his 
hat  and  greeted  her  with  the  glad  smile  of  an  old 
acquaintance. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Cuthbert!"  he 
exclaimed.  "This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  and 
most  opportune. " 

There  was  a  slight  stress  on  the  last  two  words : 
— the  words  of  recognition. 

"Delightful,  Mr.  Davidson!"  she  returned — 
which  continued  the  recognition — taking  his 
extended  hand  and  holding  it. 

"Can't  I  see  you  to  your  car,  or  carriage,  or 
whatever  you're  using?"  he  asked. 

"You  may  call  a  taxi,"  she  replied;  "and  you 
may  also  come  with  me,  if  you've  nothing  else  to 
do." 

"I'm  too  sorry.  There  has  been  a — mixup,  and 
it  is  impossible  now,  Mrs.  Cuthbert.  /  have  an 


Identified  235 

important  appointment  at  the  Capitol."  Which 
completed  the  recognition. 

"When  can  you  come  to  see  me?"  she  asked. 
"I'm  at  the  Chateau." 

"I  hope  tomorrow,  if  I'm  not  suddenly  tied  up. 
You  will  be  disengaged?" 

"I've  absolutely  nothing  on  hand  for  to 
morrow,  "  she  replied. 

"Fine!"  he  returned.  "I  think  I  can  manage 
to  come  about  one  and  take  you  out  for 
luncheon." 

"That  will  be  charming!"  she  smiled. 

"Where  would  you  like  to  go — to  the  Rata 
plan?" 

"Wherever  you  suggest,"  she  replied.  "I'll 
leave  it  to  you  where  we  shall  go  and  what  we 
shall  have." 

"You're  always  considerate  and  kind,"  he 
averred.  "If  nothing  untoward  occurs,  it  will  be 
a  fine  chance  to  talk  over  old  times,  to  explain 
everything,  and  to  arrange  for  the  future." 

"That  will  be  charming!" 

"And  unless  I  am  disappointed  in  a  certain 
matter,  I  shall  have  a  surprise  for  you." 

"I  shall  welcome  the  surprise." 


236     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

' '  We  both  shall  welcome  it,  I  think ! "  he  laughed. 
"It  seems  a  long  time  since  I've  seen  you,  Made 
line,"  he  added. 

"It  seems  a  long  time  to  me,  too,  Billy.  We 
must  do  better  now,  old  friend.  Come  to  Paris 
and  we'll  make  such  a  celebration  of  it  that 
the  Boulevards  will  run  with — gaiety." 

"I  shall  come.  Meanwhile — tomorrow."  He 
raised  his  stick  to  the  taxi  dispatcher.  "I'm  sorry 
to  leave  you, "  he  confided  to  her. 

"Let  me  take  you  as  far  as  the  Capitol,"  she 
urged. 

"Not  today.  Wait  until  I  come  to  Paris — 
then  you  may  take  me  where  you  will  and  how. " 

"I  like  you,  Billy!"  she  exclaimed. 

"And  I've  something  more  to  tell  you,"  he 
whispered,  as  he  put  her  in  and  closed  the  door. 
"The  Chateau!"  he  said  to  the  driver  then  step 
ping  back,  he  doffed  his  hat  and  waved  his  hand. 

"Yes,  I  like  you,  Mr.  Davidson,"  she  smiled, 
as  the  taxi  sped  away,  "but  I'll  like  you  better 
when  the  present  business  is  completed  and  I'm 
in  Paris — without  you. " 

He  was  a  handsome  chap  enough,  and  he  would 
have  considerable  money  when  the  present  business 


Identified  237 

was  completed,  yet,  somehow  he  did  not  appeal, 
even  to  her  mercenary  side.  Moreover  she  no 
longer  dealt  in  his  sort.  Time  was  when  he  would 
have  served  admirably,  but  she  was  done  with 
plucking  for  plucking's  sake.  She  plucked  still, 
but  neither  so  ruthlessly  nor  so  omnivorously  as  of 
yore.  She  did  not  need;  nor  was  she  so  gregarious 
in  her  tastes.  She  could  pick  and  choose,  and 
wait — and  have  some  joy  of  Him  and  take  her 
time;  be  content  not  to  pluck  him  clean,  and  so 
retain  his  friendship  even  after  he  had  been 
displaced.  With  her  now  it  was  the  man  in  high 
office  or  of  high  estate  at  whom  she  aimed — and 
her  aim  was  usually  true.  Neither  with  one  of 
her  tastes  and  tendencies  was  monogamy  apt 
to  be  attractive  nor  practiced — though  at  times 
it  subserved  her  expediency.  At  present,  it  was 

the  Count  de  M ,  an  English  Cabinet  Minister, 

and  a  Russian  Grand  Duke ; — but  discreetly,  oh,  so 
discreetly  that  none  ever  dreamed  of  the  others, 
and  the  public  never  dreamed  of  them.  To  all 
outward  appearances,  she  dwelt  in  the  odor  of 
eminent  respectability  and  sedate  gaiety. 

"Drive  slowly  through  Rock  Creek  Park  until 
I  tell  you  to  return,"  she  ordered  the  man  when 


238     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

they  had  passed  beyond  the  station;  then  with 
drew  into  a  corner  of  the  taxi,  and  busied  herself 
with  her  thoughts. 

It  was  almost  two  hours  later  that  she  gave  him 
the  Colling  wood  as  a  destination. 

At  the  Collingwood  she  dismissed  the  taxi,  and 
without  sending  up  her  name  passed  directly  up  to 
Mrs.  Chartrand's  apartment. 

Miss  Williams,  who  was  on  duty  at  the  telephone 
desk,  saw  her — and  whistled  softly.  The  instant 
the  elevator  door  clanged  shut,  she  rang  Harleston. 

"If  you  can  come  down  a  moment,  Mr.  Harles 
ton, "  she  said  softly,  "I  have  some  interesting 
information  for  you;  it  may  not  be  well  to — you 
know. " 

"I'll  be  down  at  once, "  Harleston  replied. 

When  he  appeared,  it  was  with  his  hat  and  stick, 
as  though  he  were  going  out. 

"If  anyone  calls,  Miss  Williams,"  he  remarked, 
pausing  by  her  desk,  "I'll  be  back  in  about  half  an 
hour." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Harleston, "  she  replied.  Then 
she  lowered  her  voice.  "Your  slender  lady  of  the 
ripples,  of  the  other  night,  has  just  come  in.  She's 
young,  and  a  perfect  peach  for  looks." 


Identified  239 

"Who  is  she?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  She  didn't  have  herself  an 
nounced  ;  she  went  straight  on  up.  Ben ! "  motion 
ing  to  the  elevator  boy,  "where  did  the  slender 
woman,  you  just  took  up,  get  off?" 

"At  the  fou'th  flo',  Miss  Williams,"  said  Ben. 
"She  went  into  fo'  one." 

"You're  sure  of  that?" 

"Yas,  Miss,"  the  negro  grinned,  "I  waited  to 
see." 

Miss  Williams  nodded  a  dismisal. 

"Four  one  is  Chartrands'  apartment,"  she 
remarked. 

"Is  this  the  lady  of  the  ripples?"  Harleston 
asked,  handing  her  the  photograph  of  Madeline 
Spencer. 

"Sure  thing!"  she  exclaimed.  "That's  she,  all 
right.  How  in  the  world  did  you  ever — pardon  me, 
Mr.  Harleston,  I  shouldn't  have  said  that. " 

"You're  not  meddling,  Miss  Williams.  But 
it's  a  long  story — too  long  to  detail  now.  Some 
day  soon  I'll  confide  in  you,  for  you've  helped 
me  very  much  in  this  matter  and  deserve  to  know. 
In  fact,  you've  helped  me  more  than  you  can  im 
agine.  Meanwhile  mum's  the  word,  remember. " 


240     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

' '  Mum,  it  is,  Mr.  Harleston, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  For 
once  a  telephone  girl  won't  leak,  even  to  her  best 
friends. " 

"I  believe  you,"  Harleston  returned.  "Keep 
your  eyes  open,  also  your  ears,  and  report  to  me 
anything  of  interest  as  to  our  affair. " 

Miss  Williams  answered  with  a  knowing  nod 
and  an  intimate  little  smile,  then  swung  around 
to  answer  a  call.  Harleston  returned  to  his 
rooms.  The  happenings  of  the  recent  evening 
were  quite  intelligible  to  him  now : 

When  the  episode  of  the  cab  of  the  sleeping  horse 
occurred,  Mrs.  Spencer  was  in  the  Chartrand 
apartment.  Marston,  in  some  way,  had  learned 
of  Harleston's  participation  in  the  cab  matter, 
and  with  Sparrow  had  followed  him  to  the  Colling- 
wood,  entering  by  the  fire-escape — with  the  results 
already  seen.  The  noise  on  the  fire-escape  was 
undoubtedly  made  by  them,  and  the  long  interval 
that  elapsed  before  they  entered  his  apartment 
was  consumed  in  reporting  to  her,  or  in  locating 
his  number. 

One  thing,  however,  was  not  clear :  how  they  had 
learned  so  promptly  of  Harleston's  part  in  the 
affair,  and  that  it  was  he  who  had  taken  the  letter 


Identified  241 

from  the  cab.  Either  someone  had  seen  him  at 
the  cab  and  had  babbled  to  the  Marston  crowd,  or 
else  Mrs.  Winton  or  Mrs.  Clephane  had  not  been 
quite  frank  in  her  story.  He  instantly  relieved 
Mrs.  Clephane  of  culpability;  Mrs.  Winton  did 
not  count  with  him.  Moreover,  it  was  no  longer 
of  any  moment — since  Spencer's  people  knew 
and  had  acted  on  their  knowledge,  and  were  still 
acting  on  it — and  were  still  without  the  letter. 
The  important  thing  to  Harleston  was  that  it  had 
served  to  disclose  what  promised  to  be  a  most 
serious  matter  to  this  country,  and  which,  but  for 
the  trifling  incident  of  the  cab,  would  likely  have 
gone  through  successfully — and  America  been 
irretrievably  injured. 

Madeline  Spencer  had  assured  him  that  the 
United  States  was  not  concerned;  that  the  matter 
had  to  do  only  with  a  phase  of  the  Balkan  question. 
But  such  assurances  were  worthless  and  given  only 
to  deceive,  and,  further,  were  so  understood  by  both 
of  them.  Maybe  her  story  was  true — only  the 
future  would  prove  it.  Meanwhile  you  trust  at 
your  peril,  caveat  emptor,  your  eyes  are  your  mar 
ket,  or  words  to  similar  effect.  Of  course  he  could 

cause  her  to  be  apprehended  by  the  police,  yet  such 
id 


242     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

a  course  was  unthinkable;  it  would  violate  every 
rule  of  the  game;  it  would  complicate  relations 
with  Germany,  and  afford  her  adequate  ground 
for  reprisals  on  our  secret  agents.  A  certain 
code  of  honour  obtained  with  nations,  as  well  as 
with  criminals. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  the  telephone  rang. 
He  took  up  the  receiver. 

"Hello!  "he  said. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Harleston?"  came  a  soft 
voice. 

"It  is  Madame  X!"  he  smiled. 

"Still  Madame  X?"  she  inflected. 

"Only  to  one  person. " 

"And  to  her  no  longer, "  she  returned.  "What 
are  you  doing?" 

"Thinking  about  coming  down  to  dine  with 
you." 

"Just  what  I  was  about  to  ask  of  you.  Come 
at  seven- — to  my  apartment.  I  have  something 
important  to  discuss." 

"So  have  I,"  he  replied.  "I'll  be  along  in  an 
hour,  or  sooner  if  you  want  me. " 

"I  want  you,  Mr.  Harleston,"  she  laughed, 
"but  I  can  wait  an  hour,  I  suppose." 


Identified  243 

"Which  may  mean  much  or  little,"  he  replied. 

"Just  so. — You  may  try  your  diplomatic 
methods  on  solving  the  problem." 

"My  methods  or  my  mind?"  he  asked. 

"Your  mental  methods, "  she  replied. 

"I  pass!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  may  explain 
at  dinner." 

"Meanwhile,  I  recommend  you  to  your  diplo 
matic  mind." 

"Until  dinner?" 

"Certainly — and  forever  after,  Mr.  Harleston, 
be  an  ordinary  man  with  me,  please." 

"Do  you  fancy  that  a  seeing  man  can  be  just  an 
ordinary  man  when  you  are  with  him?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  not  required  to  fancy  you  what  you're 
not, "  she  returned. 

"In  other  words,  I'm  not  a  seeing  man?" 

"Not  especially,  sir. — And  there's  another 
problem,  for  your  diplomacy.  A  bientdt,  Monsieur 
Harleston. " 

He  telephoned  to  the  Club  for  a  taxi  to  be  at 
the  door  at  a  quarter  to  seven;  then  dressed 
leisurely  and  descended. 

"Any  developments?"  he  inquired  of  Miss 
Williams. 


244     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"None,"  she  replied.  "Ripples  hasn't  come 
down  yet." 

"All  right,"  said  he.  "Tell  me  in  the  morn 
ing — you're  on  duty  then?" 

She  answered  by  a  nod,  the  flash  was  calling  her, 
and  he  passed  on  toward  the  door — just  as  the 
elevator  shot  down  and  Madeline  Spencer  stepped 
out. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Harleston?"  said  she, 
with  a  broad  smile. 

"Hello,  Mrs.  Spencer!  I'm  glad  to  see  you," 
he  returned.  "If  you're  bound  for  the  Chateau 
or  downtown,  won't  you  let  me  take  you  in  my 
car?  It's  at  the  door. " 

"If  you  think  you  dare  to  risk  your  reputation, 
I'll  be  glad  to  accept, "  she  replied. 

"Is  it  a  risk?"  he  asked. 

"That  is  for  you  to  judge,"  as  he  put  her 
in. 

"The  Chateau?"  he  inquired; — and  when  she 
nodded  he  leaned  forward  and  gave  the  order. 

"I   was   surprised   to   see  you — "   he   began. 

"Why  pretend  you  were  surprised  to  see  me?" 
she  laughed.  ' '  You  were  not ;  nor  am  I  to  see  you. 
We  are  too  old  foes  to  pretend  as  to  the  non- 


Identified  245 

essentials — when  each  knows  them.  The  cards 
are  on  the  table,  Guy,  play  them  open." 

"How  many  cards  are  on  the  table?"  he 
asked. 

"All  of  mine." 

"Then  it's  double  dummy — with  a  blind  deck 
on  the  side. " 

"Whose  side?"  she  flashed  back. 

"Yours!"  he  returned  pleasantly. 

"What  am  I  concealing?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know.  If  I  did — it  would  be  easier 
for  me." 

"The  one  thing  I  haven't  told  you,  I  can't  tell 
you:  the  precise  character  of  the  business  that 
brings  me  here.  I've  told  you  all  I  know — and 
broken  my  oath  to  do  it.  I  can't  well  do  more, 
Guy." 

"No,  you  can't  well  do  more,"  Harleston  con 
ceded.  "And  I  can't  well  do  less  under  all  the 
— admitted  circumstances;  inferentially  and  di 
rectly  admitted. " 

"Why  did  you— butt  in?"  she  asked.  "Why 
didn't  you  let  the  cab,  and  the  letter,  and  well 
enough  alone?" 

"It  was  so  mysterious;  and  so  full  of  possi- 


246     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

bilities,"  he  smiled."  And  when  I  did  it,  I  didn't 
know  that  you  were  interested." 

"And  it  would  have  made  you  all  the  more 
prying  if  you  had  known,"  she  retorted. 

"Possibly!  I've  never  yet  heard  that  personal 
feelings  entered  into  the  diplomatic  secret  service — 
and  no  more  have  you,  my  lady." 

"Personal  feelings!"  she  smiled,  and  shrugged 
his  answer  aside.  "When  did  you  first  know  that 
I  was  concerned  in  this  affair?" 

"When  I  saw  you  in  the  Chateau, "  he  replied — 
there  was  no  obligation  on  him  to  mention  the 
photograph. 

"Which  was?"  she  asked. 

' '  The  evening  I  met  you  in  Peacock  Alley.  How 
long  then  had  you  been  here?" 

"Two  days!" 

"And  not  a  word  to  me?" 

"'Personal  feelings  do  not  enter  into  the 
diplomatic  secret  service, ' "  she  quoted  mockingly. 

"Precisely, "  he  agreed.  "We  understand  each 
other  and  the  game. " 

It  served  his  purpose  not  to  notice  the  mock  in 
her  tones.  He  very  well  understood  what  it 
imported  and  what  prompted  it.  For  the  first 


Identified  247 

time  the  tigress  had  disclosed  her  claws.  Hitherto 
it  was  always  the  soft  caress  and  the  soothing  purr — 
and  when  she  wished,  her  caress  could  be  very  soft 
and  her  purr  very  soothing.  He  had  assumed 
that  there  were  claws,  but  she  had  hidden  them 
from  him ;  and  what  is  ever  hidden  one  after  a  time 
forgets.  And  she  had  some  justification  for  her 
resentment.  He  admitted  to  himself  that  his 
attitude  and  manner  had  been  such  as  might  cause 
her  to  believe  that  she  was  more  to  him  than  an 
opponent  in  a  game,  that  he  was  about  to  forgive 
her  past,  and  to  ask  her  to  warrant  only  for  the 
future.  And  he  had  a  notion  that  she  was  pre 
pared  to  warrant  and  to  keep  the  warrant — even  as 
she  had  done  with  the  Duke  of  Lotzen.  Now  it 
was  ended.  He  knew  it. 

And  she  knew  it,  too.  One  sight  of  Mrs. 
Clephane  with  him  and  she  realized  that  he  was 
lost  to  her:  Mrs.  Clephane  had  all  her  outward 
grace  and  beauty,  but  not  her  past.  Her  woman's 
intuition  had  told  her  in  the  red-room  of  the 
Chateau;  she  knew  absolutely  when  she  saw  his 
greeting  to  Mrs.  Clephane  in  the  corridor  after  her 

escape.     She  must  go  back  to  her  Count  de  M , 

her  Cabinet  Minister,   and  her  Russian   Grand 


248     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Duke.  The  only  two  men  she  had  ever  cared 
for  would  have  none  of  her,  despite  her  beauty  and 
her  fascination.  Dalberg  ever  had  scorned  her; 
Harleston  had  looked  with  favour,  wavered,  was 
about  to  yield,  when  another — outwardly  her 
alter  ego,  save  only  in  the  colour  of  her  hair — 
appeared  and  filched  him  from  her.  And  whether 
Dalberg's  scorn  or  Harleston's  defection  was  the 
more  humiliating,  she  did  not  know.  Together 
they  made  a  mocking  and  a  desolation  of  her  love 
and  her  life.  And  as  she  came  to  hate  with  a 
fierce  hatred  the  Princess  whom  Dalberg  loved,  so 
with  an  even  more  bitter  hatred  she  hated  Mrs. 
Clephane  who  had  won  Harleston  from  her. 
For  while  with  Dalberg  she  never  had  the  slightest 
chance,  and  knew  it  perfectly,  with  Harleston 
there  was  the  bitterness  of  blasted  hopes  as  well 
as  of  defeat. 

And  Harleston,  sitting  there  beside  her,  the 
perfume  of  her  hair  and  garments  heavy  about  him, 
read  much  that  was  in  her  thoughts;  and  some 
remorse  smote  him — a  little  of  remorse,  that  is — 
and  he  would  have  said  something  in  mitigation  of 
her  judgment.  But  a  look  at  her — and  the  excuse 
was  put  aside  and  the  subject  ended  before  it  was 


Identified  249 

even  begun.  She  was  not  one  to  accept  excuses 
or  to  be  proffered  them,  it  were  best  to  let  the 
matter  rest.  Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Clephane  must  be 
warned  of  the  danger  confronting  her. 

He  glanced  again  at  her — and  met  her  subtle 
smile. 

"This  Mrs.  Clephane,"  she  remarked  with  quiet 
derision,  "wherein  is  she  different  from  the  rest  of 
us?" 

"By  'us'  you  mean  whom?"  he  asked. 

"The  women  you  have  known." 

"And  seen?" 

"And  seen." 

"You're  exceedingly  catholic!"  he  smiled. 

"You're  exceedingly  exclusive — and  precipi 
tate;  and  you  haven't  answered  my  question. 
Wherein  is  Mrs.  Clephane  different  from  the  rest 
of  us?" 

"At  the  risk  of  being  personal,"  he  replied, 
"I  should  say  that  she  is  very  like  you  in  face  and 
figure  and  manner.  If  her  hair  were  black,  the 
resemblance  would  be  positively  striking." 

"Then,  since  we're  on  the  personal  equation,  the 
difference  is  where?" 

He  threw  up  his  hands  and  laughed  to  avoid  the 


250     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

obvious  answer,  an  answer  which  she  knew,  and 

knew  he  wished  to  avoid. 

:     "The  difference  is  where?"  she  repeated. 

"I  shall  let  you  judge  if  there  is  a  difference,  and 
if  there  is,  what  it  is, "  he  replied. 

"I  wish  to  know  your  mind,  Mr.  Harleston — I 
already  know  my  own. " 

"Good  girl!"  he  applauded. 

"Please  put  me  aside  and  consider  Mrs.  Cle- 
phane, ' '  she  insisted.  ' '  Is  she  cleverer  than — well, 
than  I  am?" 

"You  are  the  cleverest  woman  that  I  have  ever 
known. " 

"Is  she  more  intellectual?" 

"Preserve  me  from  the  intellectual  woman!" 
he  exclaimed. 

' '  Is  she  more  travelled  ? ' ' 

"I  think  not." 

"Is  she  superfically  more  cultured?" 

"I  should  say  not." 

"Has  she  a  better  disposition?" 

"No  one  could  have  a  better  disposition  than 
you  have  ever  shown  to  me. " 

"Is  she  more  fascinating  in  manner?" 

"She  couldn't  be!" 


Identified  251 

"She  is  younger?"  tentatively. 

Harleston  did  not  reply. 

"But  very  little — two  or  three  years,  maybe?" 
she  added. 

Again  Harleston  did  not  reply. 

"Is  her  conversation  more  entertaining?"  she 
resumed. 

"Impossible!" 

"Or  more  edifying?" 

"Excuse  me  again!"  he  exclaimed.  "Edifying 
is  in  the  same  class  as  intellectual. " 

"Then  all  Mrs.  Clephane  has  on  me  is  a  few 
years?" 

He  nodded. 

"Other  things  don't  count  with  you,  I  assume — 
when  they're  of  the  past,  and  both  have  been  a 
trifle  tinctured." 

She  said  it  with  affected  carelessness  and  a 
ravishing  smile ;  but  Harleston  was  aware  that  un 
derneath  there  was  bitterness  of  spirit,  and  cold 
hate  of  the  other  woman.  She  had  touched  the 
pinch  of  the  matter.  Both  knew  it,  and  both  knew 
the  answer.  Yet  she  was  hoping  against  hope; 
and  he  was  loath  to  hurt  her  needlessly,  because 
Mrs.  Clephane  would  be  sure  to  catch  the  recoil, 


252     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

and  because  he  himself  was  very  fond  of  her — 
despite  all  and  Mrs.  Clephane.  He  had  seen  his 
mistake  in  time,  if  it  was  a  mistake,  but  that  did 
not  blind  him  to  Madeline  Spencer's  fascinating 
manner  and  beautiful  person,  and  to  the  fact  that 
she  cared  for  him.  However,  neither  might  he  let 
pass  the  charge  she  had  just  made  against  Mrs. 
Clephane.  Yet  he  tried  to  be  kind  to  the  woman 
beside  him,  while  defending  the  woman  who  was 
absent,  and,  as  is  often  the  case  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  he  played  for  time — the  hotel  was  but 
a  block  away — and  made  a  mess  of  it,  so  far  as  the 
woman  beside  him  was  concerned. 

"Who  are  a  trifle  tinctured — and  with  what?" 
he  asked. 

She  smiled  languidly. 

"That  is  scarcely  worthy  of  you,  Guy,"  she 
remarked.  "You  are  aiming  at — windmills;  at 
least,  I  think  you  are  not  suddenly  gone  stupid. 
However,  you  do  not  need  to  answer.  Mrs.  Cle 
phane,  you  think,  is  not  tinctured,  and  you  know 
that  I  have  been — several  shades  deep.  In  other 
words,  she  surpasses  me  in  your  estimation  in  the 
petty  matter  of  morals.  So  be  it;  you're  no  fool, 
and  a  pretty  woman  cannot  blind  you  to  the  facts 


Identified  253 

for  long.  Then  we  shall  see  which  you  prefer.  The 
woman  who  is  honest  about  the  tincture,  or  the 
woman  who  is  not.  Now  let  us  drop  the  matter, 
and  attend  strictly  to  business  until  such  time  as 
the  present  business  is  ended, — and  Mrs.  Clephane 
appears  as  she  is. " 

"So  be  it!"  Harleston  replied  heartily,  "We 
understand  each  other,  Madeline." 

"Yes,  we  understand  each  other,"  she  said 
laconically,  as  the  car  drew  in  to  the  curb. 

"So  well,  indeed,"  he  continued,  as  he  gave 
her  his  hand  to  the  sidewalk,  "that  I  have  to  ar 
range  for  you  to  meet  the  Secretary  of  State  at 
four  o'clock  tomorrow  afternoon." 

"Where?"  said  she,  looking  at  him  narrowly. 

"In  his  office.  You  would  like  to  meet  him, 
Madeline?" 

"I  don't  know  what  your  play  is, "  she  laughed, 
"but  I'll  meet  him — and  take  my  chances.  From 
all  I  can  learn,  the  gentleman  isn't  much  but 
bumptiousness  and  wind.  To  either  you  or  me, 
Guy,  he  should  be  easy." 

"The  play,"  Harleston  explained,  "is  that  the 
Secretary  has  heard  of  you  and  wishes  to  see  the 
remarkable  woman  who — almost  upset  a  throne. " 


254     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"His  wish  shall  be  gratified,"  she  shrugged. 
"Will  you  come  for  me,  or  am  I  to  go  to  him — a 
rendezvous  a  deux  ?" 

"I'll  escort  you  to  him — afterward  it  will  depend 
on  you. " 

"Very  good!"  she  replied — "but  all  the  same 
I  wonder  what's  the  game. " 

"The  Secretary's  wish  and  curiosity  is  the  only 
game, "  he  replied. 

' '  Far  be  it  from  me  to  balk  either — when  some 
thing  may  result  of  advantage  to  your " 

" — beautiful  and  fascinating  self,"  he  inter 
jected. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  and  laughed  scornfully, 
as  the  lift  bore  her  upwards. 


XVI 

ANOTHER  LETTER 

HARLESTON  sauntered  through  Peacock  Alley; 
not  finding  Mrs.  Clephane,  he  had  himself  an 
nounced  and  went  up  to  her  apartment. 

Outwardly  he  was  impassive;  inwardly  there  was 
the  liveliest  sensation  of  eagerness  and  anticipation. 
He  could  not  recall  a  time  when  he  had  so  much 
joy  in  living,  and  in  the  expectation  of  the  woman. 
And  when  he  felt  Mrs.  Clephane's  small  hand 
in  his,  and  heard  her  bid  him  welcome,  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  he  was  well  content  to  be  alive — 
and  with  her. 

' ' I've  quite  a  lot  to  tell  you, "  she  smiled.  "I'm 
so  glad  you  could  dine  with  me — it  will  give  us 
much  more  time. " 

"Time  is  not  of  the  essence  of  this  contract, "  he 
replied. 

"What  contract?"  she  asked,  with  a  fetching 
little  frown  of  perplexity. 

255 


256     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"The  contract  of  the  present — and  the  fu 
ture.  " 

"Oh,  you  mean  our  friendship —  and  that  you 
won't  doubt  me  ever  again?" 

"Precisely — and  then  some,"  he  confided. 

"What  is  the  'some',  Mr.  Harleston?"  frowning 
again  in  perplexity. 

"Whatever  may  happen,"  he  said  slowly. 

"You  mean  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  mean  it — and  more — when  I  may." 

"The  'more'  and  the  'may'  are  in  the  future," 
she  remarked.  "Meanwhile,  what  have  you  to 
report?" 

"Very  considerable,"  said  he.  "Mrs.  Spen 
cer  was  in  the  Collingwood,  this  afternoon — in 
the  Chartrands'  apartment.  And  the  telephone 
girl  recognized  her  as  the  woman  who  left  the  build 
ing  on  the  night  of  the — cab." 

"That  explains  a  lot  to  you!"  Mrs.  Clephane 
exclaimed. 

"The  explanation  isn't  necessary,  except  to 
complete  the  chain  of  events, "  he  replied.  "We 
know  the  later  and  essential  facts  as  to  the  letter. 
There  is  just  one  earlier  circumstance  that  isn't 
clear  to  me;  and  while,  as  I  say,  it's  immaterial 


Another  Letter  257 

yet  I'm  curious.  How  did  the  Spencer  gang  know 
that  I  had  taken  the  letter  from  the  cab?" 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Clephane  cried.  "I  fancy  I  can 
explain.  You  know  I  saw  you  at  the  cab.  Well, 
when  they  released  me,  I  concluded  I'd  give  them 
something  to  think  about,  and  I  remarked  that 
Mr.  Harleston,  of  the  United  States  Diplomatic 
Service,  had  stopped  at  the  cab,  looked  inside, 
and  then  started  the  horse  out  Massachusetts 
Avenue.  I  thought  I  had  told  you." 

"You  didn't  tell  me,  but  it's  very  plain  now. 
Madeline  Spencer  inferred  the  rest  and  instructed 
them  how  to  act.  And  they  came  very  close 
to  turning  the  trick. " 

"You  mean  to  getting  the  letter?"  she  cried. 

He  nodded.  "I  had  gone  to  bed,  when  some 
thing  told  me  to  take  precautions;  I  carried  the 
letter  across  the  corridor  and  gave  it  to  a  friend  to 
keep  for  me  until  morning.  A  short  time  after,  the 
three  men  called. " 

"Good  Heavens!"  she  breathed.  "What  if 
they  had  gotten  the  letter." 

"Unless  they  knew  the  key -word,  they  wouldn't 
have  been  any  better  off  than  are  we — I  mean  than 
is  the  United  States." 


258     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I'm  France,  am  I?"  she  smiled. 

"For  only  this  once — and  not  for  long,  I  trust, " 
he  replied. 

"Amen!"  she  exclaimed.  "Also  for  ever  more. 
I'll  be  so  relieved  to  be  out  of  it  and  back  to  my 
normal  ways  that  I  gladly  promise  never  to  try  it 
again.  I'm  committed  to  seeing  this  affair  through 
and  to  aiding  the  French  Embassy  in  whatever  way 
I  can,  both  because  I  must  keep  faith  with  Madame 
Durrand,  and  because  my  inexperience  and 
credulity  lost  it  the  letter.  That  done,  and  I'm  for 
— you,  Mr.  Harleston!"  she  laughed. 

"And  I'm  for  you  always — no  matter  whom 
you're  for,  nor  what  you  may  do  or  have  done, " 
he  replied. 

For  just  an  instant  she  gave  him  her  eyes;  then 
the  colour  flamed  up  and  she  turned  hastily  away. 

"Sit  down,  sir,"  she  commanded — most  ador 
ably,  he  thought;  "I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I 
have  something  to  tell  you. " 

"You've  been  telling  me  a  great  deal,"  he 
confided. 

She  shrugged  her  answer  over  her  shoulder, 
and  peremptorily  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"Madame  Durrand  has  been  located,"  she  be- 


Another  Letter  259 

gan.  "The  Embassy  telephoned  me  that  she  is 
in  Passavant  Hospital,  getting  along  splendidly; 
and  that  she  duly  wired  them  of  her  accident 
and  of  my  having  the  letter,  with  an  identifying 
description  of  me.  The  wire  was  never  received. " 

"It  was  blocked  by  a  present,"  he  remarked. 
"The  wire  never  left  the  hospital." 

"So  the  Marquis  d'Hausonville  said.  He  also 
assured  me  that  the  letter  was  of  no  immediate 
importance,  and  that  steps  were  being  taken  to 
have  it  repeated." 

"Which  may  be  true,"  Harleston  smiled,  "but 
it  is  entirely  safe  to  assume  that  he  is  acting  pre 
cisely  as  though  the  letter  was  of  the  most  imme 
diate  importance.  You  may  be  sure  that  the 
moment  you  left  him  he  dispatched  a  cable  to  Paris 
reciting  the  facts,  so  that  the  Foreign  Office  could 
judge  whether  to  cable  the  letter  or  to  dispatch  it 
by  messenger.  And  he  has  the  reply  hours  ago. " — 
("Also,"  he  might  have  added,  "our  State  Depart 
ment — only  it  may  not  be  able  to  translate  it.") 
"I  should  say,  Mrs.  Clephane,  that  your  duty  is 
done  now,  unless  the  Marquis  calls  on  you  for 
assistance.  You  have  performed  your  part " 

"Very  poorly,"  she  interjected. 


260     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"On  the  contrary,  you  have  performed  it 
exceptionally  well.  You,  a  novice  at  this  busi 
ness,  prevented  the  letter  from  falling  into  Spen 
cer's  hands,  and  so  you  blocked  that  part  of  their 
game.  No,  no,  Mrs.  Clephane,  I  regard  you  as 
more  than  acquitted  of  blame." 

"You're  always  nice,  Mr.  Harleston!"  she 
responded. 

"Nice  expresses  very  inadequately  what  I  wish 
to  be  to  you,"  he  said  slowly. 

Again  the  flush  came — and  her  glance  wavered, 
and  fled  away. 

"Meanwhile, "  he  went  on,  "I  am  quite  content 
to  know  that  you  think  me  nice  to  you. " 

She  sprang  up  and  moved  out  of  distance,  saying 
as  she  did  so,  with  a  ravishing  smile : 

"Nice  is  comprehended  in  other  pleasant — 
adjectives. " 

"It  is?"  said  he,  advancing  slowly  toward  her. 

"But  you,  Mr.  Harleston,  are  forbidden  to  guess 
how  pleasant,  or  the  particular  adjective,  until 
you're  permitted. " 

"And  you'll  permit  me  to  guess  some  day — and 
soon. " 

"Maybe  so — and  maybe  not!"   she  laughed. 


Another  Letter  261 

"It  will  depend  on  the  both  of  us — and  the  busi 
ness  in  hand-  Diplomats,  you  are  well  aware, 
are  given  to  very  disingenuous  ways  and  methods. " 

"In  diplomacy,"  he  appended.  "A  diplomat, 
as  a  rule,  is  merely  a  man  of  a  little  wider  experience 
and  more  mature  judgment — the  American  diplo 
mat  alone  excepted,  save  in  the  secret  service. 
Therefore  he  knows  his  mind,  and  what  he  wants ; 
and  he  usually  can  be  depended  upon  to  keep  after 
it  until  he  gets  it." 

"And  to  want  it  after  he  gets  it?"  she  inquired. 

"Don't  be  cynical, "  he  cautioned. 

"I'm  not.  The  world  looks  good  to  me,  and  I 
try  to  look  good  to  the  world. " 

"You  have  succeeded!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I've  about-faced,"  she  went  on.  "Now  I 
presume  everybody  trustworthy  until  it's  proven 
otherwise.  Time  was,  and  not  so  long  ago,  when 
I  was  more  than  cynical ;  and  I  found  it  didn't  pay 
in  a  woman.  A  man  may  be  cynical  and  get  away 
with  it;  a  woman  only  injures  her  complexion, 
and  makes  trouble  for  herself.  Me  for  the  happy 
spirit,  and  side-stepping  the  bumps." 

"Good  girl!"  Harleston  applauded — thinking  of 
her  unhappy  spirit,  and  the  hard  bumps  she  must 


262     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

have  endured  during  the  time  that  the  late  deceased 
Clephane  was  whirling  to  an  aeroplane  finish. 
"You're  a  wonder,  Mrs.  Clephane,"  he  ended. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  you'll  make  me  vain?"  she 
asked. 

"It  can't  be  done,"  he  averred.  "You  simply 
can't  be  spoiled;  you're  much  too  sensible. " 

"La!  la!"  she  trilled.  "What  a  paragon 
of " 

— "everything,"  he  adjected. 

"Everything  that  I  must  be,  if  you  so  wish  it." 

"Just  so!"  he  replied. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  a  paragon,  Mr.  Harles- 
ton?" 

"Generally,  yes;  specifically,  no." 

"La!  la!"  she  trilled  again.  "You're  becoming 
mystic;  which  means  mysterious,  which  means 
diplomatic,  which  means  deception — which  warns 
us  to  get  back  to  the  simple  life  and  have  dinner. 
Want  dinner,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"With  you,  yes;  also  breakfast  and  luncheon 
daily." 

"You  couldn't  do  that  unless  you  were  my 
husband,  "  she  replied  tantalizingly  and  adorably. 

"I'm  perfectly  aware  of  it, "  he  responded,  lean- 


Another  Letter  263 

ing  forward  over  the  back  of  the  chair  that  separ 
ated  them. 

"But  I'm  not  ready  to  take  a  husband,  mon 
sieur,  "  she  protested  lightly. 

"I'm  perfectly  aware  of  that  also.  When  you 
are  ready,  madame,  I  am  ready  too.  Until  then 
I'm  your  good  friend — and  dinner  companion. " 

He  had  spoken  jestingly — yet  the  jest  was 
mainly  pretence;  the  real  passion  was  there  and 
ready  the  instant  he  let  it  control.  As  for  Mrs. 
Clephane,  Harleston  did  not  know.  Nor  did  she 
herself  know — more  than  that  she  was  quite  content 
to  be  with  him,  and  let  him  do  for  her,  assured 
that  he  would  not  misunderstand,  nor  misinterpret, 
nor  presume.  So,  across  the  chair's  back,  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  him;  and  he  took  it,  pressed  it 
lightly,  but  answered  never  a  word. 

"Now  you  shall  hear  the  special  matter  I've 
got  bottled  up,"  said  she.  "Whom  do  you  think 
was  here  late  this  afternoon?" 

"The  Emperor  of  Spain!"  he  guessed. 

"A  diplomatic  answer!"  she  mocked.  "There 
is  no  Emperor  of  Spain;  yet  it's  not  absolutely 
wide  of  the  diplomatic  truth,  for  it  was  Mrs.  Buis- 
sard — she  of  the  cab,  you'll  remember." 


264     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"So ! "  Harleston  exclaimed.  "What's  the  move 
now;  I  fancy  she  was  not  paying  a  social  visit." 

"You  fancy  correctly, "  Mrs.  Clephane  replied. 
"She  came  to  the  apartment  unannounced;  and 
when  I,  chancing  to  be  passing  the  door  when  she 
knocked,  opened  it,  and  saw  who  was  without,  I  al 
most  cried  out  with  surprise.  I  didn't  cry  out, 
however.  On  the  contrary,  remembering  diplo 
matic  ways,  I  most  cordially  invited  her  in.  To  do 
her  justice,  Mrs.  Buissard,  beyond  expressing  hope 
that  I  had  experienced  no  ill  effect  from  the  occur 
rence  of  the  other  night,  wasted  no  time  in  coming 
to  business." 

"'Mrs.  Clephane,'  she  said,  sitting  on  the 
corner  of  the  table  just  where  you  are  sitting  now, 
'I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to  you — may  I  make 
it?' 

"I  could  see  no  reason  to  forbid,  so  I  acquiesced. 

"And  if  you  cannot  accept  straightway,  will 
you  promise  to  forget  that  it  was  made  ? '  she  asked. 

"Again  I  acquiesced.     I  admit,  I  was  curious. 

"'We  assume,'  said  she,  'that  between  France 
and  Germany  you  are  indifferent.' 

'  'Paris  and  Berlin  have  each  their  good  points, ' 
I  replied. 


Another  Letter  265 

"Quite  so,'  she  acquiesced;  'just  now,  however, 
we  ask  you  to  favour  Berlin  and  for  a  considera 
tion.' 

"'I  don't  want  a  consideration,'  I  smiled;  'tell 
me  what's  the  favour  you  seek  ? ' 

'"We  ask  you, '  she  replied  instantly,  'to  take  a 
letter  to  the  French  Ambassador  and  tell  him  that 
it  is  the  letter  Madame  Durrand  gave  you  in  New 
York,  and  that  it  has  just  been  returned  to  you  by 
the  American  State  Department. ' 

1 ' '  Have  you  the  letter  with  you  ? '  I  asked. 

'"I  have,'  she  replied,  producing  it  from 
her  bag.  'It  may  not  exactly  resemble  the 
original. ' 

'"It  doesn't,'  said  I. 

"'But  the  French  Ambassador  won't  know  it, ' 
she  smiled.  'Further,  so  as  to  make  the  matter 
entirely  regular  with  you,  you  will  receive  an  ap 
pointment  in  the  German  Secret  Service  and  five 
thousand  dollars  in  advance. ' 

"'Is  it  usual  to — change  sides  so  suddenly?'  I 
asked. 

"'You're  not  changing  sides,'  she  explained. 
'You've  never  had  a  side,  in  the  diplomatic  sense. 
It  is  entirely  regular  in  diplomacy  for  you  to  take 


266     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

such  a  course  as  is  proposed;  there  is  nothing 
unusual  about  it.  And,  my  dear  Mrs.  Clephane,  a 
position  in  the  German  Foreign  Secret  Service  is  a 
rare  plum,  I  can  assure  you,  even  though  you  may 
not  care  to  be — active  in  it.' 

"Naturally,  I  understood.  Mrs.  Spencer  think 
ing  me  the  same  type  as  herself,  without  con 
science,  character,  or  morals,  had  evolved  this 
plan  either  to  test  me  or  to  ensnare  me.  To  test 
me,  because  she  is  jealous  of  you;  or  to  ensnare  me 
because  she  wants  to  win  out  diplomatically 
— or  both,  it  may  be.  I  am  a  poor  hand  at  pre 
tence  ;  but  I  played  the  game,  as  you  would  say,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability.  So  I  seemed  to  fall  in 
with  her  scheme;  France  was  nothing  to  me;  I  had 
been  given  no  option  in  the  matter  of  accepting  the 
letter  and  attempting  its  delivery;  I  had  done  all 
and  more  than  could  be  expected  of  a  disinterested 
person;  I  had  lost  the  letter  but  through  no  fault 
of  mine.  I  was  acquitted  of  further  responsibility; 
was  at  liberty  to  choose.  And  Mrs.  Buissard 
agreed  with  me  in  everything.  In  the  end,  I 
accepted  the  spurious  letter  for  delivery  to  the 
French  Ambassador. " 

' ' Good ! "  Harleston  applauded.     "You're  learn- 


Another  Letter  267 

ing  the  method  of  diplomacy  very  rapidly ;  fire  with 
fire,  ruse  with  ruse,  deceit  with  deceit — anything 
for  the  object  in  hand. " 

"It  went  against  me  to  do  it,"  she  admitted, 
"but  I'll  pay  them  in  their  own  coin — or  something 
to  that  effect.  Of  course,  I've  no  intention  of 
delivering  the  letter  to  the  French  Embassy.  I'll 
deliver  it  to  you  instead.  " 

"Delightful!"  Harleston  exclaimed.  "You're 
a  bully  diplomat.  However,  I'm  not  so  sure  that 
Spencer  ever  imagined  her  letter  would  reach  the 
Marquis.  She's  playing  for  something  else,  though 
what  is  by  no  means  clear.  Let  us  have  a  look  at 
the  letter;  maybe  it  will  help. " 

She  stood  beside  him  as  he  cut  the  envelope  and 
he  took  out  the  single  sheet  of  paper — on  which 
was  an  assortment  of  letters,  set  down  separately 
and  without  relation  to  words. 

"What  is  it,"  said  she,  "a  scrambled  alphabet?" 

"Looks  like  it!"  he  smiled.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  however,  it's  in  the  Blocked-Out  Square 
cipher — like  the  original  lett " 

"Then  they  could  read  the  original?"  she  cut  in. 

"Not  unless  they  have  its  particular  key 
word " 


268     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Oh,  yes;  I  remember  now,"  said  she.  "Go 
on!" 

' '  There's  no  'go  on,  '  he  explained.  ' '  Nor  would 
it  help  matters  if  there  were.  This  letter  is  spuri 
ous;  there  is  nothing  to  find  from  it,  even  if  we 
could  translate  it.  It's  intended  as  a  plant; 
either  for  us  or  for  the  Marquis;  but  I  fancy,  for 
us — so  with  your  permission  we  will  waste  no  time 
on  it  further  than  to  keep  alert  for  its  purpose. 
When  were  you  to  receive  the  five  thousand 
dollars?" 

"I  don't  know!"  she  laughed. 

"And  the  appointment  to  the  German  Secret 
Service?" 

"I  don't  know;  she  didn't  say  and  I  didn't  ask. 
I  was  too  much  occupied  with  meeting  her  on  her 
own  ground  and  playing  the  game.  I  was  crazy 
to  get  the  letter  so  I  could  show  it  to  you. " 

"Which  doubtless  was  what  she  too  wanted; 
I  can't  see  through  her  scheme — unless  it  is  to 
muddy  the  water  while  the  main  play  is  being 
pulled  off.  And  our  men  haven't  discovered  a 
single  material  thing,  though  they  have  had 
Spencer  and  all  the  rest  of  the  gang  under 
shadow  since  the  morning  after  the  cab  affair. " 


Another  Letter  269 

The  telephone  buzzed.  Mrs.  Clephane  ans 
wered  it. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Harleston  is  here,"  she  said,  passing 
the  receiver  to  him. 

"Hello!"  said  Harleston. 

"Can  you  make  it  convenient  to  drop  around 
here  sometime  this  evening?"  Major  Ranleigh 
inquired. 

"Will  ten  o'clock  do?" 

"Yes." 

"I'll  be  there,"  said  Harleston. 


XVII 

IN  THE  TAXI 

AT  ten  o'clock  Harleston  walked  into  Ranleigh's 
office. 

"I  just  wish  to  ask,"  said  the  Major,  "if  you 
want  us  to  pick  up  the  man  who  met  Mrs.  Spen 
cer  this  afternoon.  It's  against  your  orders,  I 
know,  but  this  chap  can  be  arrested  without  result 
ing  complications,  I  think.  He's  an  American." 

"Who  is  he?"  Harleston  asked. 

"Snodgrass,  an  ex-Captain  in  the  Army;  a  man 
of  seeming  independent  means,  who  lives  at  the 
Boulogne." 

"I'm  acquainted  with  him, "  returned  Harleston. 
"I  can't  think  that  he's  crooked.  I  reckon 
Spencer's  figure  and  face  attracted  him — or  prob 
ably  he  has  known  her  in  Europe. " 

"I'm  only  giving  you  the  facts:  he's  the  first 
man,  other  than  those  of  her  entourage,  that  she 
has  met  since  we've  had  her  under-  surveillance. 

270 


In  the  Taxi  271 

It  was  at  Union  Station,  this  afternoon.  She  went 
there  alone,  after  loitering  for  an  hour  through  the 
shops  of  F  Street.  In  the  train-shed  she  chanced, 
seemingly  by  the  veriest  accident,  upon  Snodgrass. 
He  almost  bumped  into  her  as  they  rounded  the 
news-stand.  From  their  gaiety  they  are  old 
acquaintances;  and  after  a  word  he  turned  and 
accompanied  her  to  the  cab-stand  and  put  her  in  a 
taxi.  As  far  as  the  shadow  saw,  there  was  no 
letter  or  papers  passed — only  conversation.  And 
what  he  managed  to  overhear  of  it  was  seemingly 
quite  innocent  of  value  to  us.  He  called  her  Made 
line  and  she  called  him  Billy,  which  isn't  his  name, 
and  invited  him  to  Paris;  so  they  must  be  pretty 
well  acquainted.  They  are  to  meet  at  one  o'clock 
tomorrow.  That's  the  first  matter  to  report. 
The  second  is  that  Marston  is  spying  around  the 
French  Embassy.  He  has  walked  up  Sixteenth 
Street  frequently  since  four  o'clock,  and  never 
once  glanced  at  the  big  marble  mansion  when  he 
thought  anyone  was  looking.  His  eyes  were  busy 
enough  other  times.  Also  he  visited,  after  dark, 
Paublo's  Eating-House  in  the  Division,  and  had  a 
talk  with  Jimmy-the-Snake — a  professional  bur 
glar  of  the  best  class.  We  are  watching  The  Snake, 


272     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

of  course.  Something  will  be  done  at  the  French 
Embassy  tonight,  I  imagine.  Finally,  at  nine 
o'clock,  Marston  went  to  Carpenter's  residence  and 
was  admitted.  He  came  out  fifteen  minutes 
later,  and  returned  to  the  Chateau.  I  assume  that 
Carpenter  will  tell  you  of  this  errand. " 

Harleston  nodded. 

"What  shall  be  done  as  to  Snodgrass — also  as 
to  Mrs.  Spencer  and  one  o'clock  tomorrow?" 
Ranleigh  asked.  ' '  Do  you  wish  me  to  prevent  the 
meeting?" 

"No,"  said  Harleston,  after  a  little  considera 
tion;  "simply  keep  them  in  view  and  follow 
them.  I  can't  imagine  Snodgrass  being  con 
cerned  in  this  affair.  It's  the  lady  he's  after,  not 
her  mission.  It's  likely  he  doesn't  even  know  she's 
in  the  Secret  Service.  However,  keep  an  eye 
on  them;  I  may  be  mistaken. " 

The  telephone  buzzed.  Ranleigh  answered, 
then  passed  the  instrument  across  to  Harleston. 

"Is  that  ycu,  Harleston?  .  .  .  This  is  Carpen 
ter.  I've  just  had  a  most  amazing  proposition 
made  to  me.  It  will  keep  until  morning,  but 
drop  around  at  the  Department  about  nine-thirty 
and  I'll  unburden  myself. " 


In  the  Taxi  273 

"Is  it  Marston?"     Harleston  asked. 

"Exactly;  however  did  you  guess  it?" 

"However  did  you  guess  I  was  with  Ranleigh?" 
Harleston  laughed. 

"I  didn't  guess;  I  called  Mrs.  Clephane,  told 
her  I  wanted  you — and  presto!  There's  small 
trick  about  that,  old  fox — except  in  knowing 
your  quarry.  So  long — and  don't!" 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Carpenter,  I'll  stop  on 
my  way  home.  I'm  just  beginning  to  be  inter 
ested." 

"Come  along!"  was  the  answer. 

"Carpenter — to  explain  a  Marston  proposi 
tion,  "  Harleston  remarked,  pushing  back  the 
instrument. 

"They  are  muddying  the  water  all  around," 
Ranleigh  commented.  "So  I  imagine  they  are 
about  to  make  a  get-away  with  the  goods." 

"Try  to,  Ranleigh,  try  to, "  Harleston  amended. 
"They  won't  make  a  get-away  so  long  as  we  have 
Madame  Spencer  in  our  midst.  Keep  your  eye  on 
the  dark-haired  loveliness;  with  her  in  the  land 
scape  the  goods  are  still  here.  Now  for  Carpen 
ter." 

"Permit    me    to    suggest    a    taxi!"    Ranleigh 

18 


274     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

observed.  "It's  just  as  well  that  you  shouldn't 
wander  about  alone  on  the  well-lighted  streets 
of  the  National  Capital " 

"You  think  I  might  be  suspended  by  the  Inter 
state  Commerce  Commission,  or  enjoined  by  the 
Federal  Trades  Commission,  or  be  violating  the 
Clayton  Anti-Trust  Act?" 

"You  might  be  any  and  all  of  them,  God  knows 
• — as  well  as  contrary  to  some  paternal  act  of  a 
non-thinking,  theoretical,  and  subservient  Con 
gress.  However,  I'm  pinning  my  faith  to  you  and 
hoping  for  the  best;  Jimmy-the-Snake  is  cruising 
whether  and  whence  and  wherefore. " 

"Also  besides  and  among!"  Harleston  laughed. 

"Seriously,  I  mean  it  about  The  Snake,"  Ran- 
leigh  repeated;  "and  you'd  better  have  this  with 
you  also, "  taking  a  small  automatic  from  a  drawer 
of  his  desk  and  handing  it  across.  ' '  You  may  have 
need  of  it;  if  you  do,  it  will  be  very  convenient. " 

Harleston,  descending  from  the  taxi,  found 
Carpenter  waiting  for  him  on  the  front  piazza. 

"Your  friend  Marston  is  a  very  pleasant  chap, " 
he  remarked;  "also  he  has  a  most  astonishing 
nerve.  He  actually  tried  to  bribe  me  for  a  copy 
of  the  Clephane  letter." 


In  the  Taxi  275 

"How  did  you  meet  it?"  Harleston  asked. 

"I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  meet  it — whether  to  be 
indignant  and  order  him  out,  or  to  be  acquiescently 
non-committal.  I  chose  the  latter  course;  and 
after  a  few  preliminary  feelers  he  came  out  with 
his  offer:  five  thousand  dollars  for  liberty  to  make 
a  copy  of  the  original  letter.  I  thought  a  moment, 
then  came  back  at  him  with  the  counter  proposi 
tion:  if  he  would  secure  the  key- word  from  the 
French  Embassy,  I  would  obtain  the  letter;  then 
together  we  would  make  the  translation. " 

"Delightful!"  Harleston  applauded.  "What 
did  he  say  to  that?" 

"What  could  he  do, but  accept?  It  was  fair, 
and  he  had  premised  his  offer  by  a  solemn  assur 
ance  that  the  United  States  was  not  involved!" 

"Delightful!"  said  Harleston  again.  "I  reckon 
you've  seen  the  last  of  Marston. " 

"He  said  he  would  have  the  key- word  by 
tomorrow  night  or  sooner, "  Carpenter  remarked. 

"I  suppose  you  parted  like  fellow  conspirators, " 
Harleston  laughed. 

"Yes;  suspicious  of  each  other  and  ready  for 
anything.  We  were  strictly  professional.  Diplo 
matic  manners  and  distrustful  hearts. " 


276     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Do  you  think  that  Marston  will  try  for  the 
key- word?"  Harleston  asked. 

"I  do!  He  probably  has  it,  or  rather  Spencer 
has  it.  Also  I  think  he  will  submit  it  for  a  test 
with  the  letter.  He  knows  his  attempt  to  bribe 
me  failed,  and  that  the  only  way  he  can  have 
access  to  the  letter  is  to  come  with  the  key-word. 
And  you  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  let  him  copy  the 
letter  until  after  I've  tested  the  key-word  and 
found  it  correct. " 

"Where  is  the  letter?"  Harleston  asked. 

"Locked  in  the  burglar-proof  safe  in  my  office. " 

"Who  knows  the  combination?" 

"Spendel,  my  confidential  clerk." 

"Trustworthy?" 

"I  would  as  soon  suspect  myself. " 

' '  Very  good !  Now,  another  thing :  do  you  know 
Fred  Snodgrass,  an  ex-Captain  of  the  Army,  who 
lives  at  the  Boulogne?" 

"Casually,"  said  Carpenter. 

"Ever  suspect  him  of  being  in  the  German  pay? 

"No.  However,  he  is  an  intimate  friend  of 
Von  Swinkle,  the  Second  Secretary — if  that's  any 
indication. " 

"Rather  the  reverse,  I  should  say.     However, 


In  the  Taxi  277 

he  met  Madeline  Spencer  yesterday  in  Union 
Station.  The  meeting  was  apparently  accidental, 
and  so  far  as  his  shadow  could  see  or  hear  was 
entirely  innocent. " 

"I  distrust  the  apparently  accidental  and  the 
entirely  innocent — in  diplomacy, "  Carpenter 
remarked.  "We  should  keep  an  eye  on  Snod- 
grass. " 

' '  Meanwhile  what  are  you  doing  as  to  the  French 
key- word — trying  for  it?"  Harleston  asked,  going 
toward  the  door. 

Carpenter  nodded.  "I've  got  my  lines  out.  I 
hope  to  land  it  in  a  few  days.  If  Marston  has  it, 
or  gets  it  earlier,  so  much  the  better  for  us. " 

Harleston  had  walked  a  block  before  he  recol 
lected  that  he  was  obligated  to  Ranleigh  to  go  in  a 
taxi.  The  one  in  which  he  had  come  from  Head 
quarters  he  had  dismissed,  not  knowing  how  long 
he  would  be  at  Carpenter's,  and  he  had  neglected  to 
telephone  for  another.  He  would  not  go  back 
to  Carpenter's;  and,  anyway,  it  was  nonsense 
always  to  be  guarding  himself  from  the  enemy. 

He  had  not  a  thing  they  wanted,  nor  did  he 
know  aught  that  would  be  of  use  to  them ;  and  his 
directorship  of  the  affair  was  not  of  great  import- 


278     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ance;  another,  if  he  knew  the  facts,  could  take  his 
place  and  see  the  matter  through.  That  was  the 
important  point,  however.  Time  was  exceedingly 
material;  and  if  the  Spencer  gang  caused  him  to 
disappear  for  a  few  days,  they  would  have  a  free 
hand  until  Ranleigh  or  Carpenter  awoke  to  the 
situation.  It  was  not  exactly  just  to  the  cause  for 
him  to  take  unnecessary  chances.  A  drug  store 
was  but  a  short  distance  up  the  street,  on  the 
other  side;  he  would  telephone  from  it  for  a  taxi. 

A  moment  later,  with  the  honk  of  a  horn,  a 
yellow  taxi  rounded  the  corner  and  bore  his  way. 

He  raised  his  stick  to  the  driver,  in  event  of  him 
being  free — and  stepped  out  from  the  sidewalk. 

The  man  shook  his  head  in  negation  and  the 
machine  flashed  by — leaving  Harleston  staring 
after  it  with  a  somewhat  surprised  and  very  much 
puzzled  frown. 

Madeline  Spencer  was  in  the  taxi — alone. 
Furthermore,  she  had  not  seen  him. 


XVIII 

DOUBT 

AT  N,  the  next  cross-street,  the  taxi  turned 
west.  Instantly  Harleston  made  for  the  corner. 
When  he  got  there,  the  machine  was  swinging 
north  into  Connecticut  Avenue.  He  ran  down  N 
Street  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  When  he  reached 
the  avenue  the  car  was  not  in  sight,  nor  was 
there  any  one  on  the  street  as  far  as  Dupont 
Circle;  and  as  thoroughfares  radiate  from  the 
Circle  as  the  spokes  of  a  wheel  from  the  hub,  the 
taxi  could  have  gone  in  practically  any  direction. 

So  he  gave  over  running — running  after  a  taxi- 
cab  was  not  in  his  line — and  resumed  his  walk 
northward.  At  Dupont  Circle  he  found  a  lone 
cab  with  a  drowsy  negro  on  the  box;  who  came 
quickly  to  life,  however,  at  his  approach. 

"Cab,  seh,  cab?"  he  solicited. 

"Which  way  did  the  yellow  taxi  go  that  just 
came  up  Connecticut  Avenue?"  Harleston  asked. 

279 


280     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Out  Massachu'ts  abenu',  seh,  yass  seh. — Cab, 
seh?" 

"Drive  out  Massachusetts  Avenue,"  Harleston 
directed,  getting  in.  "If  you  see  a  taxi,  get  close 
to  it." 

"I'll  do  hit,  seh,  yass  seh!"  said  the  negro, 
as  he  climbed  on  the  box  and  jerked  the  lines. 

But  though  they  went  out  the  avenue  to  beyond 
Sheridan  Circle,  and  back  again,  and  along  the 
streets  north  of  P  and  west  of  Twentieth,  no 
taxi  was  seen — nor  any  trace  of  Madeline  Spen 
cer.  They  drove  over  the  route  for  more  than 
an  hour — and  never  raised  a  yellow  taxi  nor  a  skirt. 
Finally  Harleston  abandoned  the  search  and 
headed  the  cab  for  the  Collingwood. 

Miss  Williams  was  on  duty  when  he  entered, 
and  she  signalled  him  to  the  desk. 

"The  Chateau  has  been  trying  to  get  you  for 
the  last  half-hour,"  said  she.  "Shall  I  call 
them?" 

"If  you  please,"  he  replied.     "I'll  wait  here." 

Presently  she  nodded  to  Harleston;  he  stepped 
into  the  booth  and  closed  the  door. 

"This  is  Mr.  Harleston,"  said  he. 

"I   recognize   your  voice,    Guy,    dear,"   came 


Doubt  281 

Madeline  Spencer's  soft  tones.  "I'd  know  it 
anywhere,  indeed. " 

"The  same  to  you,  my  lady,"  Harleston 
returned.  "Was  that  what  you  were  calling 
me  for?" 

"No,  no!"  she  laughed.  "I  just  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  I'm  back  at  the  Chateau.  I  thought  you 
might  be  interested,  you  know;  you  sprinted 
so  rapidly  up  N  Street,  and  spent  so  much  time 
driving  around  in  a  cab  searching  for  me,  that  I 
assume  it  will  be  a  very  great  relief  to  you  to  know 
that  I  am  returned.  It  was  such  a  satisfaction, 
Guy,  to  feel  that  you  were  so  solicitous  for  my 
safety,  and  I  appreciate  it,  my  dear,  I  appreciate 
it.  Meanwhile,  you  might  wish  to  get  busy  as  to 
my  alter  ego.  I  saw  her  going  up  Sixteenth  Street, 
as  I  was  returning — a  little  after  eleven  o'clock. 
Maybe  she  needs  assistance,  Guy;  you  never  can 
tell.  See  you  tomorrow,  old  enemy.  Good-bye 
for  tonight." 

"I  say — are  you  there,  Madeline?"  Harleston 
ejaculated;  then  asked  again.  When  no  one  an 
swered,  he  hung  up  the  receiver  and  came  from  the 
booth.  Spencer,  that  time,  had  put  one  over  him; 
two,  maybe,  for  he  was  concerned  about  Mrs. 


282     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Clephane.  Spencer  had  gone  without  her  shadow, 
been  free  to  transact  her  business,  and  returned — 
and  all  the  time  she  knew  of  passing  him  and  his 
pursuit  of  her,  and  was  enjoying  his  discomfiture. 
To  add  a  trifle  more  uneasiness,  she  had  thrown  in 
the  matter  of  Mrs.  Clephane.  Probably  it  was 
false;  yet  he  could  not  be  sure  and  it  troubled 
him.  All  of  which,  he  was  aware,  Mrs.  Spencer 
intended — and  took  a  devilish  joy  in  doing. 

Harleston  made  a  couple  of  turns  up  and  down 
the  room;  then  he  sat  down  and  drummed  a  bit  on 
the  table;  finally  he  reached  for  the  telephone.  It 
was  very  late,  but  he  would  call  her — she  would 
understand. 

He  got  the  Chateau  and,  giving  his  name,  asked 
whether  Mrs.  Clephane  was  on  the  first  floor  of  the 
hotel.  In  a  few  minutes  the  answer  came:  she 
was  not ;  should  they  give  him  her  apartment  ?  He 
said  yes.  Presently  a  sleepy  voice  answered. 
He  recognized  it  as  Marie — the  maid — and  had 
some  difficulty  in  convincing  her  of  his  identity. 
He  did  it  at  last  only  by  speaking  French  to  her — 
which,  as  he  had  hitherto  addressed  her  only  in 
French,  was  not  extraordinary. 

And,  being  convinced,  she  answered  promptly 


Doubt  283 

enough  that  Mrs.  Clephane  was  not  in — she  had 
gone  down-stairs  about  two  hours  ago  telling  her 
not  to  wait  up.  She  had  no  idea  where  Mrs.  Cle 
phane  went;  she  had  said  nothing  about  leaving 
the  hotel. 

"Ask  her  to  call  me  at  the  Collingwood  the 
moment  she  comes  in, "  said  Harleston. 

Then  he  got  Ranleigh  and  told  him  of  the 
Spencer  episode  and  of  Mrs.  Clephane's  dis 
appearance. 

"You  would  better  put  Mrs.  Clephane  under 
lock  and  key — or  else  stay  with  her  and  keep  her 
from  rash  adventures, "  Ranleigh  commented. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Harleston. 
"Meanwhile  I  might  inquire  where  was  Mrs. 
Spencer's  shadow  while  she  was  taxiing  up 
the  avenue?" 

"I  fancy  he  was  on  his  job,  though  you  may  not 
have  seen  him,"  Ranleigh  replied.  "His  report 
in  the  morning  will  tell. " 

"I  would  sooner  have  a  report  as  to  Mrs. 
Clephane's  whereabouts, "  Harleston  remarked. 

"I  can't  see  what  good  she  would  be  to  them 
now?"  said  Ranleigh.  "She  hasn't  a  thing  they 
want." 


284     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Granted;  yet  where  is  she;  moreover,  she 
promised  me  to  do  nothing  unusual  and  to 
beware  of  traps." 

"She  has  the  feminine  right  to  reconsider," 
Ranleigh  reminded  him.  "However,  I'll  instruct 
the  bureau  to  get  busy  and " 

"Wait  until  morning,"  Harleston  interjected. 
"If  Mrs.  Clephane  hasn't  appeared  by  nine  o'clock, 
I'll  telephone  you. " 

Harleston  leaned  back  in  his  chair  frowning. 
Washington  was  not  a  large  city,  yet  under  certain 
circumstances  she  could  be  lost  in  it — and  stay 
lost,  with  all  the  efforts  of  the  police  quite  unavail 
ing  to  find  her.  It  seemed  improbable  that  she  had 
been  abducted;  as  Ranleigh  had  said,  they  had 
nothing  to  gain  from  her.  She  could  neither 
advance  their  plans  nor  hinder  them;  she  was 
purely  a  negative  quantity.  Spencer  might  be 
striking  at  him  through  Mrs.  Clephane,  intending 
to  hold  her  surety  for  his  neutrality,  or  to  feed  her 
own  revenge,  or  maybe  both.  Yet,  somehow,  he 
could  not  hold  to  the  notion;  it  was  too  petty  for 
their  game.  Moreover,  Spencer  knew  that  it 
would  be  ineffective,  and  she  was  not  one  to  waste 
time  in  methods,  petty  or  inefficient.  Of  course,  it 


Doubt  285 

i 

might  be  that  she  had  merely  twitted  him  about 
the  episode,  as  a  jealous  woman  would  do. 

And  yet  what  could  have  taken  Mrs.  Clephane 
from  the  hotel  at  such  an  hour,  and  without 
apprising  her  maid;  and  why  was  she  driving  up 
Sixteenth  Street?  Or  was  Spencer's  talk  just  a 
lie;  intended  to  throw  a  scare  into  him  and  give 
him  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour — until  he  would  ven 
ture  to  call  up  Mrs.  Clephane's  apartment?  And 
if  he  did  not  venture,  the  bad  quarter  would  last 
the  balance  of  the  night.  At  all  events  and  what 
ever  her  idea  Madeline  Spencer  had  succeeded 
in  disturbing  him  to  an  unusual  degree — and  all 
because  of  Mrs.  Clephane. 

At  last  he  sprang  up,  threw  on  a  light  top 
coat,  grabbed  a  hat,  and  made  for  the  door.  He 
would  go  down  to  the  Chateau  and  investi 
gate.  Anything  was  preferable  to  this  miserable 
waiting. 

The  corridor  door  was  swinging  shut  behind 
him,  when  his  telephone  buzzed.  He  flung  back 
the  door  and  reached  the  receiver  in  a  bound. 

"Yes!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  forgot  to  say,  Guy,"  came  Madeline  Spen 
cer's  purring  voice,  "that  I'll  tell  you  in  the  morn- 


286     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ing,  if  you  care  to  pay  me  a  visit,  how  my  alter  ego 
came  to  be  on  Sixteenth  Street  at  so  unusual  an 
hour.  It's  rather  interesting  as  to  details.  By 
the  way,  you  must  be  sitting  beside  the  receiver 
expecting  a  call;  you  answered  with  such  amazing 
promptness!"  and  she  laughed  softly.  "Shall  I 
expect  you  at  eleven,  or  will  you  be  content  to 
wait  until  we  go  to  the  Department  at  four?" 

"I  had  just  finished  talking  with  Mrs.  Clephane 
when  you  called,"  Harleston  replied  imperturbably, 
then  laughed  mockingly.  "I'll  be  at  the  Chateau 
for  you  at  half-af ter- three ;  you  can  give  me  the 
details  then.  I  shall  be  delighted,  Madeline,  to 
compare  your  details  with  hers." 

"I  wonder!"  said  she. 

"What  do  you  wonder?"  said  he. 

"Whether  you  are — well,  no  matter;  we'll  take 
it  up  this  afternoon.  Tout  d  I'heure,  Monsieur 
Harleston  I" 

He  was  turning  once  more  toward  the  door, 
when  the  telephone  rang  again. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Harleston?"  said  Mrs.  Clephane's 
lovely  voice — and  Harleston's  grin  almost  flowed 
into  the  transmitter. 

"It  is  indeed!"  he  responded — then  severely: 


Doubt  287 

"Where  have  you  been,  my  lady?  You  have 
given  me  a  most  horrible  fright. " 

"I  cry  your  pardon,  my  lord;  I'll  not  transgress 
again, "  she  laughed.  "And  if  you  don't  scold  me 
I'll  tell  you  something — something  I'm  sure  will 
be  worth  even  a  diplomat's  hearing. " 

"Anything  you  would  tell  would  be  well  worth 
any  diplomat's  hearing,"  said  he;  "only  I  shall 
always  prefer  to  be  the  diplomat  on  duty  when 
you  are  doing  the  telling!" 

"That's  deliciously  nice,  Mr.  Harleston;  I " 

"Where  are  you  now?"  he  demanded. 

"At  the  Chateau — in  my  apartment.  Any 
thing  more?" 

"  Nothing;  except  to  pray  you  to  be  prudent  and 
not  do  it  again." 

"I'll  promise — until  I  see  you."  She  lowered 
her  voice — "Are  you  there,  Mr.  Harleston?" 

"I'm  here — since  I  can't  be  with  you  there," 
he  replied. 

"Assuredly  not!  I'm  not  exactly  in  receiving 
attire.  Meanwhile  the  morning — and  Madame 
Brunette's  doings.  Good-night,  Mon  camarade. " 


XIX 

MARSTON 

AT  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Marston 
tapped  gently  on  the  door  of  Madeline  Spencer's 
apartment,  and  was  immediately  admitted  by  the 
demure  maid ;  who  greeted  him  with  a  smile,  which 
he  repaid  with  a  kiss — several  of  them,  indeed — 
and  an  affectionate  and  pressing  arm  to  her 
shapely  and  slender  waist. 

"I  suppose  monsieur  wants  to  see  my  mistress," 
said  she. 

"Now  that  I've  seen  you,  yes,  little  one," 
Marston  returned,  with  another  kiss. 

"Have  you  seen  me,  monsieur?" 

"Not  half  long  enough,  my  love;  but  business 
before  pleasure.  There's  another  now,  so  run  along 
and  do  your  devoir." 

She  fetched  him  a  tiny  slap  across  his  cheek,  for 
which  she  was  caught  and  made  to  suffer  again; 
then  she  wriggled  loose,  and,  with  a  flirty  back- 

288 


Marston  289 

ward  kick  at  him,  disappeared  through  the  inner 
doorway. 

In  a  moment  she  returned,  dropped  him  a  bit 
of  curtsy,  and  informed  him  that  her  mistress 
would  receive  him. 

He  rewarded  her  with  another  caress,  which  she 
accepted  with  assumed  shyness — and  a  wicked 
little  pinch. 

"I'll  pay  you  later  for  the  pinch!"  he  tossed 
back,  softly. 

She  answered  with  an  affected  shrug  and  a  wink. 

"Elise  is  remarkably  pretty! "  Madeline  Spencer 
remarked  when  he  entered  the  boudoir.  She  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  eating  her  rolls  and  coffee — a  be 
wildering  negligee  of  cerise  and  cream  heightening 
the  effect  of  her  dead-white  colouring  and  raven- 
black  hair. 

Marston  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  then  sighed. 

"And  you  are  ravishingly  beautiful,  my  lady," 
he  replied. 

"You  like  this  robe?"  she  asked. 

"I — like  you;  what  you  may  wear  is  incidental. 
It  merely  increases  the  effect  of  your  wonderful 
personality." 

"My  good  Marston!"  she  smiled.     "What  a 

19 


290     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

faithful  friend  you  are;  always  seeing  my  few 
good  points  and  being  blind  to  my  many  bad." 

"And  being  always,"  he  added,  bowing  low, 
"your  most  humble  and  loving  servant. " 

"I  know  it — and  I  am  very,  very  grateful." 
She  put  aside  the  tray  and  languidly  stretched 
her  lithe  length  under  the  sheet.  "What  have 
you  to  report,  Marston?"  she  asked. 

"I  have  to  report,  madame, "  said  Marston, 
with  strict  formality  of  a  subordinate  to  his  chief, 
"that  I  have  procured  the  French  code-book." 

"Good  work!"  she  exclaimed,  sitting  up  sharply. 
"However  did  you  manage  it?" 

"By  the  assistance  of  one  Jimmy- the-Snake. 
He  visited  the  French  Embassy  last  night,  and 
persuaded  the  safe  to  yield  up  the  code.  It 
would  have  been  better,  I  admit,  to  copy  the  code 
and  then  replace  it,  but  it  wasn't  possible.  He 
had  just  sufficient  time  to  grab  the  book  and 
make  a  get-away.  Someone  was  coming. " 

"You've  accomplished  enough  even  though  we 
don't  obtain  the  letter"  she  approved.  "I  shall 
recommend  you  for  promotion,  Marston." 

She  took  the  thin  book  and  glanced  through  it 
until  she  came  to  the  key-words  of  the  Blocked- 


^Marston  291 

Out  Square — the  last  key-word  was  the  one 

the  Count  de  M had  given  her.  After  all,  the 

Count  was  not  so  bad;  and  he  was  handsome;  thus 
far  dependable;  and  he  was,  seemingly  at  least,  in 
love  with  her.  She  might  do  worse.  .  .  .  Yet  he 
was  not  Harleston;  there  never  was  but  one  equal 
to  Harleston,  and  that  one  was  lost  to  her.  She 
shut  her  lips  tightly  and  a  far-away  look  came  into 
her  eyes.  And  now  Harleston,  too,  was  lost  to  her; 
and — she  lifted  her  hands  resignedly,  and  laughed 
a  mirthless  laugh.  As  she  came  back  to  reality, 
she  met  Marston's  curiously  courteous  glance  with 
a  bit  of  a  shrug. 

''Pardon  my  momentary  abstraction,"  she  said 
softly;  "I  was  pursuing  a  train  of  thought' " 

"And  you  didn't  overtake  it,"  he  remarked. 

* '  I  can  never  overtake  it.  I  haven't  the  requisite 
speed.  Did  you  ever  miss  your  two  greatest 
opportunities,  Marston  ? ' ' 

"I've  missed  my  greatest,"  Marston  replied 
instantly.  "Oh — it  was  out  of  my  class,  so  I 
never  started. " 

"It  may  have  been  a  mistake,  my  friend,"  she 
observed;  "one  never  can  tell  until  he's  tried  it — 
and  failed.  I  mightn't  have  missed  had  I  gone 


292     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

on  another  schedule.  However,  the  past  is  to 
profit  by,  and  to  forget  if  we  can't  remember  it 
pleasantly.  So  let  us  return  to  the  business  in 
hand,  Marston;  it's  a  rattling  business  and  a 
fascinating,  and  at  it  you  and  I  are  not  to  be 
altogether  despised,"  throwing  him  a  bewitching 
smile. 

"Don't!"  he  exclaimed.     "I'm  not  stone. " 

"Forgive  me,  my  friend!"  putting  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

Marston  simply  bowed.  "I  think  it  wiser  to 
refrain,"  he  said  gently,  and  bowed  again.  "By 
all  means  let  us  to  the  business  in  hand." 

He  understood  her  nature  better  than  she 
thought.  The  sympathy  in  her  was,  for  the  mom 
ent,  real  enough,  but  it  was  only  for  the  moment; 
the  love  of  admiration  was  the  controlling  note — 
what  she  sought  and  what  she  played  for.  She 
felt  the  sympathy  while  it  lasted,  but  it  was 
the  effect  as  to  herself,  the  selfish  effect,  that 
inspired  the  sensation.  When  a  beautiful  woman 
stoops  to  sympathy,  it  is  rare  indeed  that  she  does 
not  thereby  arouse  admiration  for  herself.  Made 
line  Spencer  may  have  been  cold  and  shrewd  and 
selfish  and  calculating,  yet  with  it  all  she  was 


Marston  293 

warm-hearted ;  but  the  warm  heart  never  got  away 
with  the  cool  head — unless  it  was  with  that  head's 
permission  and  for  its  benefit.  She  played  men — • 
and  men  played  her — but  the  man  that  had  won 
was  not  yet  to  be  found.  Two  only  of  those  whom 
she  tried  had  failed  to  succumb  to  her  fascinating 
alluringness — and  these  two  she  had  loved,  and 
still  did  both  love  and  hate. 

"Returning  then  to  the  code-book  and  the 
letter,"  said  she.  "How  about  the  latter;  have 
you  found  Carpenter  susceptible  to  persuasion?" 

"To  persuasion,  no;  to  exchange,  yes.  Our 
agreement  is  that  if  I  provide  the  key-word,  he 
will  provide  the  letter  in  question.  At  ten  o'clock 
this  morning  the  trick  is  to  be  turned. " 

"And  if  the  translation  concerns  the  United 
States,  he  simply  would  turn  the  key  upon  you  and 
hold  you  prisoner  until  the  matter  is  cleared  up." 

"One  must  take  some  risks, "  Marston  observed. 

She  nodded  slightly. 

"Which  of  these  do  you  fancy  is  the  key- word?" 
she  asked. 

"We  shall  try  them  in  turn,  beginning  with  the 
last:  cL  I'aube  dujour.  I've  a  hunch  that  we'll  end 
there." 


294     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"And  that  you'll  go  into  temporary  confine 
ment?"  she  smiled. 

"My  hunch  stops  with  the  key- word!"  he  smiled 
back. 

"Your  hunch  as  to  the  key-word  is  partially 
correct,"  she  replied  slowly,  "but  it  does  not, 
however,  reach  quite  to  the  last  conclusion.  I 
may  not  explain  now,  Marston.  Do  you  go  to 
the  meeting,  with  the  code-book  as  your  only 
exhibit.  It  should  be  indisputable  proof  of  your 
good  faith,  and  our  honest  belief  that  the  letter 
does  not  concern  the  United  States.  Moreover, 
you  run  no  danger  of  imprisonment,  for  you'll  not 
effect  a  translation.  But  you  must  obtain  a  copy 
of  the  letter;  it's  but  a  fair  exchange  for  the  French 
code,  you  know;  and  you're  permitted — nay 
you're  authorized,  in  the  interest  of  the  service — to 
allow  Carpenter  to  copy  the  book  if  he  will  give 
you  the  letter  to  copy.  Furthermore,  you  may 
proceed  leisurely  in  the  process;  there  is  no  par 
ticular  haste;  while  they  are  occupied  with  the 
letter  matter,  there  is  apt  to  be  less  activity  along 
other  lines.  Only  get  a  copy  of  the  letter;  I  have 
the  key- word. " 

"You  have  the  key- word!"  Marston  exclaimed. 


Marston  295 

She  nodded.  "I'm  quite  sure  of  it;  and  the 
code-book  confirms  me.  It  is  up  to  you  to  procure 
the  letter;  I'll  do  the  rest,  if  any  rest  is  necessary. 
We  may  be  headed  for  Europe  by  evening,  Mar 
ston;  in  which  event,  the  cipher  letter  is  of  no 
consequence  to  us." 

"You'll  be  glad  to  get  back  to  Paris?"  he  asked. 

"I  shall,  indeed — won't  you?" 

"I'm  quite  content  anywhere,  so  long  as  lam 
working  with  you,"  he  answered.  It  was  much 
as  a  faithful  dog  would  wag  his  tail  and  snuggle 
up  for  a  pat  of  the  hand. 

She  smiled  straight  into  his  eyes — a  frank, 
appreciative  smile,  as  though  an  intimate  camarad 
erie  existed  between  them,  and  would  never  be 
violated  by  either.  She  would  have  been  in  danger 
had  she  smiled  that  way  at  some  men;  they  would 
not  have  remained  quiescent.  And  a  little  more 
aggression  by  Marston  might  have  been  more 
conducive  for  success — less  of  the  faithful  dog  and 
more  of  the  independent  subordinate  and  the 
equal  human.  As  it  was,  he  was  only  a  plaything. 

"Now,  my  friend,  if  you're  done  you  may  go," 
she  said  briskly.  "  I  must  dress,  and  you're  rather 
de  trop  at  such  a  time,  however  much  you  may  be 


296     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse" 

welcome  at  another.  And,  Marston,  don't  miss 
the  copy  of  the  letter;  I'll  expect  you  with  it  at 
seven;  we'll  make  the  translation  together,  either 
here  or  on  the  train  to  New  York.  You're  to 
accompany  me,  you  know.  I've  an  appointment 
at  one,  and  another  at  four,  but  I'll  be  here  at 
seven.  If  I'm  detained,  wait." 

When  Marston  had  gone  she  turned  over  and 
composed  herself  for  sleep — it  was  two  hours 
until  she  had  need  to  array  herself  for  luncheon 
and  Snodgrass.  .  .  .  Yes,  Snodgrass  was  a  very 
good-looking  chap;  her  drive  with  him  last  night 
had  been  very  satisfactory;  he  had  the  requisite 
wealth,  so  it  might  be  just  as  well  to  let  him  become 
fascinated.  It  would  be  at  least  a  momentary 
diversion;  something  to  occupy  her  for  the  loss  of 
Harleston.  She  closed  her  eyes — and  shivered 
ever  so  little.  Damn  Mrs.  Clephane !  But  for  her 
she  would  not  have  lost  him. 

She  flung  off  the  cover  and  sprang  up.  There 
was  a  chance  left  and  she  would  try  it.  If  it 
failed,  she  would  not  lose  more  than  she  had 
already  lost.  If  it  won,  she  won  Harleston ! 


XX 

PLAYING  THE  GAME 

SHE  threw  a  kimono  around  her  and  hastened 
to  the  telephone. 

"Get  me,"  she  said  to  the  hotel  central,  "Mr. 
Harleston  at  the  Collingwood,  the  Cosmopoli 
tan  Club,  or  the  State  Department." 

"I'll  call  you,"  said  the  operator — and  Made 
line  Spencer  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  waited. 

Presently  the  call  came. 

"I  have  Mr.  Harleston  for  you,"  said  the 
operator  and  switched  on  the  trunk. 

"Where  are  you,  Guy? — this  is  Madeline  Spen 
cer,"  said  she. 

"I'm  at  the  Collingwood,  Madeline.  Anything 
I  can  do  for  you?"  was  the  answer. 

"Yes.     Be  here  in  an  hour;  I  must  see  you." 

"Important?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  be  there  at  ten-thirty." 
297 


298     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"You're  always  good!"  said  she  softly. 

"Not  always,"  he  laughed,  "but  I  will  be  this 
time. " 

She  dressed  in  feverish  haste,  yet  with  great 
care  and  attention  to  effects.  Her  gown  was 
a  lustreless  black  silk,  trimmed  with  gold  and 
made  as  plain  as  her  modiste  would — and  the 
styles  permitted.  Her  hair  was  piled  high,  with  an 
elongated  twist;  her  dead- white  complexion  was 
unmarred  by  powder  or  rouge,  and  beneath  the 
transparent  skin  the  blood  pulsed  softly  pink. 

Her  toilet  finished,  and  passed  upon  in  the  mir 
ror,  she  sent  her  maid  on  a  shopping  expedition 
which  would  occupy  her  until  noon,  and  even 
hurried  her  off.  She  wanted  no  one  about,  not 
even  Elise,  when  she  made  her  last  play  at 
Harleston. 

Elise  gone  five  minutes  before  the  hour,  she 
compelled  herself  to  outward  tranquillity — while 
she  strove  for  inward  calm.  And  succeeding 
wonderfully  well — so  well,  indeed,  that  none  would 
ever  have  suspected  the  agitation  seething  under 
the  cold  placidity.  Its  only  evidence  was  in  the 
gentle  swing  of  her  narrow  foot,  and  the  nervous 
play  of  her  slender  fingers.  And  even  these 


Playing  the  Game  299 

indications  disappeared  at  the  knock  on  the  corri 
dor  door ;  and  she  went  almost  blithely  and  flung  it 
back — to  Harleston  bowing  on  the  threshold. 

"Punctual  as  usual!"  she  greeted. 

"Because  I  came  to  one  who  is  always  punc 
tual,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand,  nor  dropping  it 
until  they  were  well  inside  the  reception  room. 

"Sit  down,  old  enemy,"  said  she,  sinking  into 
a  chair  and  pointing  to  another — which  she  had 
been  careful  to  place  just  within  reach.  "You've 
nothing  much  to  do  for  a  short  while,  have 
you?" 

"I've  nothing  much  to  do  any  time  except  to 
keep  an  eye  on  you!"  he  laughed. 

"Am  I  so  difficult?"  she  asked. 

"You  keep  me  fairly  occupied  at  all  times — and 
sometimes  rather  more. " 

"At  least  I  endeavour  not  to  offend  your  eye!" 
she  smiled,  her  head  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  on 
him. 

"The  only  difficulty  is  that  you  are  too  allur 
ing,"  he  returned.  "One  is  prone  to  forget  that 
his  business  is  not  to  admire  but  to  observe  dis 
passionately  and  to  block  your  plans.  You're 
much  too  beautiful,  Madeline;  you  usually  make 


3oo     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

monkeys  of  all  of  us,  and  while  we're  held  fascin 
ated  by  your  loveliness  you  scoop  the  prize.  It's 
not  fair,  my  lady;  you  play  with — loaded  dice." 

"Flatterer!"  she  said,  melting  into  another  pose. 

"Flatterer!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  you  could  but 
see  yourself  now,  you  would  confess  the  truth 
of  the  indictment.  You're  the  loveliest  thing, 
and  you  grow  lovelier  every  day  and  younger. 
Positively,  Madeline,  you're  a — "  he  paused 
for  words  and  raised  his  hands  helplessly. 

"I'm  a  what?"  she  murmured,  leaning  a  bit 
toward  him. 

"I  haven't  the  word;  there  isn't  one  adequate 
to  the — subject. " 

"You  actually  mean  that?"  she  asked,  gliding 
into  another  posture,  even  more  alluring. 

"You  know  I  mean  it, "  he  declared.  "Haven't 
we  agreed  to  be  honest  with  each  other? " 

"I've  been  honest ! "  she  answered. 

"Meaning  that  I've  not  been?" 

"Have  you?"  she  inflected.     "I  wonder,  Guy. " 

She  might  just  as  well  have  asked  direct  his 
feeling  for  Mrs.  Clephane — and  he  understood 
perfectly  the  question. 

He  nodded,  slowly  but  none-the-less  definitely. 


Playing  the  Game  301 

She  took  a  cigarette  and  lighted  it  with  careful 
attention,  then  blew  the  smoke  sharply  against 
the  incandescent  coal. 

"Guy,"  said  she,  "I'm  about  to  speak  plainly; 
please  don't  misunderstand;  I'm  simply  a  woman, 
now — a  weak  woman,  perhaps;  it  will  be  for  you  to 
judge  me  at  the  end. "  She  smiled  faintly. 

"Not  a  weak  woman,  Madeline,"  he  replied. 
"Your  worst  enemy  would  not  venture  to  call 
you  that." 

He  wondered  what  more  was  coming,  and  at 
what  directed.  Her  tone  and  attitude  and  depre 
cation  of  self  were  new  to  him.  He  had  never 
seen  her  so;  always  she  was  the  embodification  of 
calm,  self-reliance,  poise,  never  flustered,  never 
disturbed.  A  weak  woman!  It  was  so  absurd 
as  to  be  ridiculous,  and  she  was  "aware  of  it.  So 
what  was  the  play  with  so  bald  a  notice  to  beware? 

"No,  no,  Guy,"  said  she.  "You  think  it's  a 
play,  but  it  isn't.  It's  the  simple  truth  I'm  about 
to  tell  you,  and  as  truth  I  pray  you  take  it. " 

"I'll  take  it  as  you  wish  it  taken,"  he  responded, 
more  than  ever  mystified. 

She  carefully  laid  her  cigarette  on  the  receiver, 
then  arose  and  leaned  against  the  table,  her  hands 


3O2     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

behind  her.  He  arose  also,  but  she  declined 
the  courtesy. 

"Keep  your  seat,"  she  said,  "and  don't  be 
alarmed,  I'm  not  preparing  to  have  you  daggered 
or  garroted.  Entirely  the  reverse,  Guy.  I've 
decided  to  offer  terms :  to  capitulate ;  to  throw  the 
whole  thing  over;  to  betray  my  mission  and  get  out 
of  the  service  forever.  No,  don't  smile  incredu 
lously,  I  mean  it. " 

"Good  Lord!"  thought  Harleston.  "What  is 
coming  and  where  do  we  go?"  What  he  said, 
however,  was : 

"Wouldn't  you  be  incredulous  if  our  positions 
were  reversed?  Madeline  Spencer,  the  very 
Queen  of  the  Service,  betray  her  trust?  Impossi 
ble!" 

"Thank  you,  Guy,"  said  she.  "I've  never  yet 
been  false  to  the  hand  that  paid  me — and  some 
times  I've  paid  dearly  for  keeping  faith.  Now  for 
the  first  time, — and  the  last  time,  too,  for  if 
successful  the  service  will  know  me  no  longer — I 
am  ready  and  willing  deliberately  to  make  a 
failure  of  my  mission,  if  you  will  take  that  failure 
as  conclusive  evidence  of  my  good  faith."  She 
bent  a  bit  forward  and  threw  into  her  words  and 


Playing  the  Game  303 

tones  and  attitude  every  grace  that  she  possessed. 
"Will  you  do  it,  Guy?" 

"When  you  ask  that  way,"  said  Harleston, 
"who  of  mankind  would  refuse  you  anything  on 
earth." 

She  was  alluring,  wonderfully  alluring.  Time 
was,  and  that  lately,  when  he  would  have  suc 
cumbed.  But  that  time  was  no  longer;  beside 
the  raven-hair  and  dead-white  cheek  was  now 
another  face,  with  peach-blow  cheek  and  the  ruddy 
tresses — and  the  peach-blow  cheek  and  ruddy 
tresses  prevailed.  And  so  he  had  responded,  sin 
cere  enough,  in  tribute  to  her  loveliness  and  in 
memory  of  what  had  been. 

And  Madeline  Spencer  detected  the  absent 
note;  but  she  ignored  it.  She  would  go  through 
with  it — make  her  bid: 

"Almost  you  say  that  as  though  you  meant  it ! " 
she  smiled,  and  forced  his  hand.  Now  he  must 
either  deny  or  affirm. 

"I  do  mean  it,"  he  replied.  It  was  all  in  the 
game,  and  he  was  obligated  to  be  truthful  only 
to  Mrs.  Clephane. 

She  looked  at  him  contemplatively,  trying  to 
read  behind  his  words. 


304     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"What  is  it,  Madeline?"  he  asked. 

"I  wonder!"  she  said  speculatively. 

"Can't  I  answer?" 

"Yes,  you  can  answer " 

"Then  ask  me, "  he  invited,  seeking  to  get  some 
thing  that  would  afford  him  an  inkling  of  her  aim. 
Assuredly  she  had  him  guessing. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  him  straight  hi  the 
eyes;  then  suddenly  her  glance  wavered,  a  faint 
flush  crept  from  neck  to  cheek,  and  she  smiled 
almost  bashfully. 

"Guy,"  said  she,  "I  ask  you  to  forget  our  pro 
fession,  if  you  can,  and  take  what  I  am  about 
to  say  as  free  from  guile  or  expediency — and  of 
supreme  importance  to  me.  I'm  just  a  simple 
woman  now,  with  a  woman's  desires  and  affection 
and  hopes.  I've  come  to  the  parting  of  the 
ways:  on  one  side  lie  power,  excitement,  lone 
liness;  on  the  other,  contentment,  peace,  com 
panionship.  I'll  choose  the  latter,  if  you're 
willing.  You  have  but  to  say  the  word  and  I'll 
give  up  everything,  confess  what  I'm  here  for, 
what  I've  done,  and  what  is  arranged  for  in  the 
future. " 

"Upon  what  condition,  Madeline?"  he  smiled, 


Playing  the  Game  305 

more  puzzled  than  ever.  He  was  almost  ready 
to  believe  she  meant  it. 

She  caught  her  breath,  hesitated,  blushed 
furiously — and  answered  softly: 

"Upon  the  condition  that  you  marry  me." 

For  the  instant  Harleston  was  too  amazed  for 
words ;  and,  despite  all  his  training  in  dissimulation, 
his  surprise  was  evidenced  in  his  face.  Small  won 
der  he  had  been  unable  to  make  out  the  play — 
it  was  not  a  play;  she  meant  it.  She  was  ready 
to  throw  her  mission  overboard  to  attain  her  per 
sonal  end. 

"Will  you  marry  me,  old  enemy?"  she  whis 
pered,  putting  out  her  hand  to  him  and  smiting 
him  with  a  ravishing  smile — a  smile  such  as  she  had 
had  for  but  one  other  man.  It  had  been  utterly 
lost  on  that  other,  but  it  had  almost  won  with 
Harleston;  and  it  might  have  won  now  with  him 
but  for  another's  smile,  she  of  the  ruddy  tresses 
and  peach-blow  cheek. 

"My  dear  Madeline,"  said  he  slowly,  holding 
her  hand  with  intimate  pressure,  "  I  cannot  permit 
you  to  betray  yourself  for  me.  You  are " 

"Quite  old  enough  in  the  ways  of  the  world, " 
she  interjected,  "to  know  my  own  mind.  I  love 


306     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

you,  Guy,  and  unless  I've  mistaken  your  attitude, 
you  love  me.  When  our  minds  meet  in  such  a 
matter,  why  should  anything  be  permitted  to 
intervene?"  Her  hand  still  lay  in  his;  her  eyes 
held  his;  her  personality  fairly  enveloped  them. 
With  lips  a  little  parted,  she  bent  toward  him. 
"  It's  a  bit  unusual,  dear,  for  the  woman  to  propose, 
to  the  man,  but  we  are  an  unusual  two,  and  the 
business  of  life  has  shaken  us  free  from  the  con 
ventions  of  the  drawing-room  and  frothy  society. 
With  us  there  need  be  no  cant  nor  pretence  nor  false 
modesty,  because  there  is  not  the  slightest  possi 
bility  of  misunderstanding." 

"And  yet,  Madeline,  we  may  not  defy  the  right 
and  permit  you  to  sacrifice  yourself, "  he  opposed. 
"There  is  a  standard  which  neither  cant  nor 
pretence  nor  false  modesty  can  affect  —  the 
standard  of  honour. " 

"Honour!"  she  inflected.  "What  is  honour, 
such  honour,  when  a  woman  loves. " 

"Nothing — and  therefore  must  the  love  abide; 
honour  can't  abide  once  it  is  lost." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "I'm  afraid  it's  not 
so  much  my  honour  as  your  love,"  she  said.  "A 
week  ago,  and  I  would  have  had  a  different  answer 


Playing  the  Game  307 

— in  fact,  I  would  have  been  the  one  to  answer 
and  you  the  one  to  ask.  You  know  it  quite  as  well 
as  I ;  for  when  you  left  me  that  afternoon  in  Paris, 
expecting  to  return  in  the  evening,  you  were 
ready  to  speak  and  I  was  ready  with  the  answer. 
Then  fate,  in  the  person  of  an  unsympathetic 
Foreign  Office  intervened,  and  sent  you  on  the 
instant  to  St.  Petersburg.  We  never  met  again 
until  in  this  hotel.  I  have  not  changed,  but  you 
have.  I  fear  your  answer  does  not  ring  quite 
true;  it  isn't  like  you.  Why  is  it,  Guy?" 

Never  a  reference  to  Mrs.  Clephane;  never  an 
intimation — and  yet  Mrs.  Clephane  might  as  well 
have  been  in  the  room,  so  living  was  her  presence. 

"Madeline,"  said  he,  lingeringly  freeing  her 
hand,  "I  hardly  know  what  to  say  nor  how  to 
say  it.  I'm  embarrassed,  frightfully  embarrassed; 
yet  you  have  been  frank  with  me  so  I  must  be 
frank  with  you — even  though  it  hurts.  I'm  dis 
tressed  to  have  been  such  a  bungler,  such  a  miser 
able  bungler,  such  a  blind  fool,  indeed.  The  false 
impression  must  be  due  to  me;  assuredly,  without 
the  most  justifiable  cause  you  would  not  have 
drawn  the  erroneous  inference.  And  a  man  who  is 
responsible  for  that  inference  with  a  woman  of 


308     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

your  experience  and  ability,  Madeline,  must  be 
more  or  less  a  fool,  even  though  his  intentions 
have  been  absolutely  correct." 

"Which  leads  where,  Guy?"  she  mocked. 

"Nowhere,"  he  replied,  "I'm  trying  to  say 
something,  and  can't  say  it.  But  you  know  what 
it  is,  Madeline.  I'm  sorry,  supremely  sorry. 
Let  us  forget  this  little  talk,  and  go  on  as  though 
it  hadn't  occurred — playing  our  parts  in  the  pre 
sent  game  and  besting  the  other  by  every  means  in 
our  power.  I  can't  accept  your  offer,  because  I 
cannot  pay  the  consideration.  It  still  must  be 
d  outrance  with  us,  Madeline ;  no  quarter  given  and 
no  quarter  asked." 

For  a  space  she  looked  at  him  with  cold  repel- 
lence,  eyes  black  as  night.  Then  her  eyes  nar 
rowed,  and  she  laughed,  a  mirthlessly  sarcastic 
laugh,  so  low  that  Harleston  barely  heard  it. 

"Is  red  hair  then  prettier  than  black,  Mr. 
Harleston?"  she  asked  mockingly;  "or  is  Mrs. 
Clephane's  character  whiter  than  mine?" 

"That  is  not  worthy  of  you,  Madeline,"  Harles 
ton  reproved.  "You're  a  good  sport;  hitherto 
you've  taken  the  count,  as  well  as  given  it,  with 
out  the  flutter  of  an  eyelash — and  over  far  more 


Playing  the  Game  309 

serious  matters  than  your  humble  servant,  who 
hasn't  anything  to  give  him  value. " 

Again  the  sarcastic  laugh.  She  knew  he  was 
playing  the  game,  two  games  indeed,  the 
diplomatic  and  his  own.  He  had  never  for 
got  himself  nor  regarded  her  for  one  little  in 
stant. 

"As  a  lecturer  on  morals,  Mr.  Harleston,  you 
are  a  wonder,"  she  mocked;  "you  have  almost 
succeeded — nay  quite,  shall  I  say — in  convincing 
yourself.  And  when  you — a  man — do  that,  what 
is  to  be  expected  of  a  woman — who  is  alone  in  the 
world?  So  I  must  accept  your  argument,  and 
your  conclusions,  and  be  content  with  my  duty — 
and" — with  a  sudden  ravishing  smile — "if  I  best 
you,  Guy,  you  will  have  only  yourself  to  blame. 
I  won't  send  Mrs.  Clephane  a  present,  nor  will  I 
wish  you  joy  of  her,  nor  her  of  you ;  but  you  won't 
look  for  it,  and  she  would  think  it  somewhat  pre 
sumptuous  in  me  to  assume  to  know  you.  These 
red-headed  women  are  the  very  devil,  Guy,  after 
they've  got  you  landed — also  before,  but  in  a 
different  way. " 

"What's  your  game,  Madeline?"  he  smiled.  It 
had  pleased  her  suddenly  to  veer  around  and  re- 


310     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

sume  the  play ;  and  far  be  it  from  him  to  balk  her. 
"I'll  admit  you  have  me  guessing." 

"I  thought  you  believed  me,  Guy.  My  game 
was  you — and  I've  lost. " 

"Nonsense!"  he  replied.  "I  was  inclined  to 
think  so  at  first;  your  fine  acting  and  man's 
conceit,  I  reckon.  But  my  conceit  has  been 
punctured,  and  you've  slipped  a  bit  in  your  acting; 
therefore,  to  descend  to  the  extremely  common 
place,  the  jig  is  up. " 

"And  the  next  lead  is  yours!"  she  laughed  back. 

"That  is  precisely  why  I  asked  you  the  game — 
so  I  could  make  an  intelligible  lead. " 

"Ask  Mrs.  Clephane!"  she  suggested. 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  he — and  bowed  himself  out. 

"Do  it?  Of  course,  you'll  do  it,"  Madeline 
Spencer  gritted,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him. 
"I've  no  chance,  it  seems,  against  a  red-haired 
woman.  The  other  one  also  had  red  hair. "  She 
seized  a  vase  from  the  table  at  her  hand,  and 
hurled  it  across  the  room.  It  crushed  in  fragments 
against  the  wall.  "Damn  Mrs.  Clephane!"  she 
said  softly. 


XXI 

THE  KEY-WORD 

PROMPTLY  at  ten  o'clock  Marston  walked  into 
Carpenter's  office  and  sent  in  his  card. 

It  found  Carpenter  pacing  up  and  down,  and 
frowning  at  a  paper  spread  open  on  his  desk.  At 
the  messenger's  apologetically  discreet  cough,  he 
glanced  around  and  took  the  extended  card. 

"Show  him  in!"  he  snapped,  and  swept  the 

paper   from   the   desk   and   into  a  drawer.  .  .  . 

"Good-morning,  sir!"  as  Marston  bowed  on  the 

threshold ;  then,  without  any  preliminaries:  "What 

success?" 

"I  have  the  French  code-book,"  Marston 
replied. 

"With  you?" 

Marston  drew  out  the  slender  book.  "  It 
embraces  all  their  codes,  I  believe,"  he  re 
marked. 

"H-u-m!"  said  Carpenter  thoughtfully,  retriev- 


312     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

ing  the  paper  he  had  just  swept  into  the  drawer. 
"How  are  we  to  work  it,  Mr.  Marston?" 

"As  allies,"  Marston  replied.  "I'm  perfectly 
willing  to  let  you  have  the  book  and  everything  in 
it,  if  you  will  let  me  have  a  copy  of  the  letter. 
I'm  confident  that  the  key-word  is  here;  I'm 
equally  confident  that  the  letter  does  not  involve, 
either  directly  or  indirectly,  the  United  States. 
I  understand  that  the  letter  is  in  the  cipher  of  the 
Blocked-Out  Square;  in  this  book  there  are  two 
pages  and  more  of  key-words  to  this  Square,  the 
last  dozen  or  so  of  which  are  added  in  writing.  If 
the  letter  is  in  that  cipher,  we  should  have  no 
particular  difficulty  in  finding  the  key- word.  I 
would  suggest,  however,  that  we  first  try  the  last 
word  on  the  list — maybe  we  won't  have  to  go  any 
farther." 

"Very  well,"  said  Carpenter,  briskly. 

The  advantage  was  all  with  him.  If  Marston 
thought  the  letter  was  only  a  line  and  that  he  could 
remember  the  letters  used,  he  was  in  for  a  shock. 
No  man  living  could  remember  twenty  spilled 
alphabets;  and  if  he  attempted  to  make  a  copy  it 
could  easily  be  prevented.  The  Fifth  Secretary 
spread  the  paper  on  the  table. 


The  Key- Word  313 

"Here  is  a  copy  of  the  cipher  letter  in  question — 
we  had  it  made  large  for  convenience,"  he  ex 
plained.  "The  original  is  in  the  safe;  you'll 
wish  to  compare  it  with  the  copy,  so  we'll  have  it 
here." 

He  gave  the  necessary  order;  when  the  letter 
was  brought  he  passed  it  to  Marston. 

"I'll  read  the  copy,  if  you'll  hold  the  original," 
he  said;  and  proceeded  to  call  off  the  letters  with 
amazing  rapidity.  "Correct,  isn't  it?"  as  he 
ended. 

"Yes!"  said  Marston  returning  the  original  to 
Carpenter.  He  wanted  in  every  way  to  disarm 
suspicion;  moreover,  a  copy  could  be  made  more 
readily  from  a  large  typewritten  edition  than  from 
the  small,  written  original.  "Now  for  the  code- 
book  and  the  last  key-word — a  Vaube  du  jour,  I 
think  it  is  .  .  .  yes,  a  Vaube  du  jour,  it  is,"  and  he 
handed  the  book  across.  "Shall  we  try  it  first, 
Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"By  all  means,"  said  Carpenter.  "  Shall  I  set 
it  down,  or  will  you?" 

One  would  never  have  imagined  from  his 
expression  or  his  intonation  that  he  had  already 
tried  a  Vaube  du  jour  for  the  key- word  and  failed; 


314     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

nor  that  why  he  had  failed  he  now  knew.  The 
book  was  right  as  to  the  word,  and  the  slip  that 
Harleston  had  taken  from  Crenshaw's  pocket-book 
confirmed  it.  A  Vaube  du  jour  was  not  the  key 
word;  but  the  key- word  was  constructed  from 
it  by  some  arbitrary  rule;  and  that  rule  was 
susceptible  of  solution.  After  he  was  free  of  this 
fellow  Marston,  he  would  solve  the  problem 
quickly  enough.  It  was  as  sure  as  tomorrow. 
The  prescience  was  come. 

"About  twenty  letters  should  be  enough  for 
experiment?"  he  suggested,  taking  up  a  test  card. 

When  he  had  written  the  key-word  and  the 
letters  under  it,  he,  scarcely  without  reference  to 
the  Blocked-Out  Square,  wrote  the  translation. 
Marston  did  the  same,  very  much  slower. 
i  "It  doesn't  fit!"  Marston  announced.  "You 
can't  make  anything  out  ofAGELUMTONZN, 
and  so  forth. " 

"I  can't!"  Carpenter  smiled — and  waited. 
Would  Marston  suggest  the  transposed  or  elided 
word? 

"I'm  disappointed,"  Marston  confessed.  "I 
thought  sure  we  had  it.  Let's  try  the  next 
key -word  in  the  book." 


The  Key- Word  315 

They  tried  it,  and  the  next,  and  all  the  rest. 
None  of  them  translated  the  letter. 

It  took  more  than  an  hour;  at  the  end,  as  a  full 
measure  of  good  faith  and  because  it  was  of  no 
further  use  to  him — he  having  preserved  a  copy — 
Marston  insisted  that  Carpenter  retain  the  original 
of  the  French  code-book  and  have  a  copy  made, 
after  which  the  book  could  be  returned  to  him  at 
the  Chateau.  During  this  hour  and  more  his 
hand  was  in  and  out  in  his  side  coat-pocket.  When 
he  left  the  room  there  went  with  him,  in  that 
pocket,  a  copy  of  the  original  letter — roughly  made 
by  the  sense  of  touch  alone,  yet  none  the  less  a 
copy  and  sufficiently  distinct  to  be  decipherable. 
For  years  Marston  had  practised  writing  in  the 
dark  and  under  all  sorts  of  handicaps.  In  his 
pocket,  a  number  of  small  slips  of  paper  and  a 
pencil  were  concealed.  He  would  write  a  line, 
then  take  his  hand  from  his  pocket;  after  a  time 
he  would  shift  the  page  of  paper,  write  another 
line,  and  then  another,  and  so  on  until  the  copy 
was  made.  And  all  the  while  he  was  so  frankly 
communicative,  with  apparently  not  the  slightest 
intent  to  obtaining  a  copy — even  tearing  up  the 
paper  on  which  were  the  various  trial  translations 


316     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

— that  he  completely  deceived  Carpenter.  When 
he  left,  the  latter  went  with  him  to  the  elevator  and 
bowed  him  down. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  their  game,"  Carpen 
ter  chuckled,  as  he  turned  away,  "but  it's  no 
matter.  I  took  all  the  tricks  this  morning  and 
still  have  a  few  trumps  left.  I  thought  he  cer 
tainly  would  try  for  a  copy  of  the  letter,  but  he 
didn't  even  attempt  it.  He  may  have  committed 
it  to  memory,  but  I'll  chance  it. " 
,  Returning  to  his  office  he  gave  the  code-book 
another  careful  inspection  and  confirmed  his 
impression  as  to  its  being  authentic.  Then  he 
laid  it  aside,  and  took  up  the  letter  and  cL  Vaube 
dujour! 

First  he  tried  it  in  reverse  position:  ruoj  ud 
ebua'l  cL.  The  translation  was  gibberish.  Then  he 
wrote  the  first  and  last  letters,  the  second  and  next 
to  last,  the  third  and  the  third  from  last,  and  so 
on.  The  result,  too,  was  gibberish.  Next  he 
dropped  the  first  word,  'a'  and  tried  the  rest 
— still  gibberish.  He  dropped  also  the  T — still 
gibberish.  Then,  in  turn,  the  'a '  of  the  third  word 
the  'd '  of  the  fourth,  the  'j '  of  the  last  word — all 
gibberish.  Next  he  wrote  the  key- word  entire  but 


The  Key- Word  317 

transposed  the  'a'  from  the  first  letter  to  the  last 
still  gibberish.  He  began  with  the  'aube'— still 
gibberish. 

"Damn!"  said  he. 

He  was  persuaded  that  the  key-word  was 
in  the  sentence  before  him;  the  code-book, 
Crenshaw's  slip  of  paper,  and  his  own  hunch 
were  convincing,  yet  the  combination  was  slow  in 
coming. 

Du  jour  d  Vaube  was  the  next  arrangement. 
He  wrote  it  under  the  printed  words  and  began 
to  apply  the  Square. 

The  D  and  the  A  yielded  A;  the  u  and  the  B 
yielded  v;  the  j  and  the  c  yielded  E;  the  o  and  the 
D  yielded  R;  the  u  and  the  E  yielded  T;  the  R  and 
the  F  yielded  I. 

"Avertil" 

Carpenter  gave  a  soft  whistle  of  satisfaction. 
French,  it  was — his  hunch  had  not  deceived  him. 
The  key- word  was  found! 

Swiftly  he  worked  out  the  rest  of  the  cipher, 
setting  down  the  letters  of  the  translation  without 
regard  to  words.  "Averti"  was  evident  because 
it  was  the  first  word.  At  the  end,  he  had  this 
result : 


318     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

AVERTIQUELALLEMAG  N  EAENGAG 
EUNOFFICIERADECE  LE  RLAFORM 
ULESECRETEDESETA  T  S  UNI  SEMP 
LOYEEACOLLODONNI ERLAFULMI 
COTONPOURLAPOUDRE  S  AN  SFUME 
EALARTILLERIEDEGROSC  ALIBR 
EETQUEMADELINESPENCE  REMI  S 
SAIREDELALLEMAGNEAPARI  SPH 
OTOGRAPHIECII NCLUSEAETECH 
ARGEEDELARECEVOIRNESEPEUT 
DECOUVRIRLENOMDUTRA  I  TRE  SP 
ENCERE  STPARTI  E  POURNEWYORK 
SURLALUS ITANIAQUIDOITARRI 
VERLEQUATORZEATOUTEFORCEI 
NTERCEPTEZ  LAFORMULEOUEMPE 
CHEZAMOINS  QUELALLEMAGNENE 
LOBTIENNESPENCERS IMPORTAN 
T  E  A  L  A  F  R  AN  C  E 

There  was  not  the  least  doubt  as  to  it  being  in 
French — the  last  three  words,  as  well  as  the  first, 
proved  it;  also  that  he  had  the  correct  key- word. 
It  only  remained  now  to  separate  the  result 
into  words.  And  this  puzzle  presented  no  difficul 
ties  to  Carpenter;  he  quickly  marshalled  it  into 
form: 

"Averti  que  I'Allemagne  a  engage  un  officier  d 
deceler  la  formule  secrete  des  Etats-Unis  employee 
d  collodonnier  la  fulmi-coton  pour  la  poudre  sans 


The  Key-Word  319 

fumee  a  Vartillerie  de  gros  calibre;  et  que  Madeline 
Spencer,  emissaire  de  VAllemagne  a  Paris, — photo- 
graphie  ci,  incluse — a  ete  de  char  gee  la  recovoir.  Ne 
se  pent  decouvrir  le  nom  du  traitre.  Spencer  est 
partie  pour  New  York  sur  la  Lusitania  qui  doit 
arriver  le  quatorze.  A  toute  force  interceptez  la 
j or  mule;  ou  empechez  a  moins  que  VAllemagne  ne 
Vobtienne.  Spencer  pas  importante  a  la  France. " 

And  under  it  he  wrote  the  English  translation: 
"Informed  Germany  has  induced  an  officer  to 
betray  United  States  secret  formula  for  colloding 
process  of  treating  gun-cotton  for  smokeless  powder 
for  high  power  guns,  and  that  Madeline  Spencer,  a 
German  Secret  agent  in  Paris,  photograph  en 
closed  herein,  is  delegated  to  receive  same.  Can 
not  ascertain  name  of  traitor.  Spencer  sailed 
Lusitania,  due  New  York,  fourteenth.  Take  any 
means  to  intercept  formula;  or  at  least  to  prevent 
Germany  obtaining  it.  Spencer  not  essential 
to  France." 

Spencer  not  essential  to  France!  Surely  this 
woman  had  great  power,  either  of  knowledge  or  of 
friends ;  she  resided  in  Paris,  yet  France  was  reluct 
ant  to  lift  hand  against  her  so  long  as  she  was  on 


320     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

French  soil.  Well,  he  would  turn  the  matter  over 
to  Harleston;  let  him  decide  whether  it  was  to  be 
thumbs  up  or  thumbs  down  for  her  Alluringness. 
Furthermore,  the  meeting  with  Snodgrass  now 
assumed  much  significance.  Snodgrass  was  an 
ex-army  officer.  Harleston  must  be  warned  at 
once. 

He  tried  for  him  at  the  Collingwood,  the  Cos 
mopolitan,  the  Rataplan,  and  finally  at  the 
Chateau.  He  got  him  there. 

"Can  you  come  here  at  once?"  he  asked. 

' '  Not  well, ' '  said  Harleston.  ' '  I've  an  appoint 
ment." 

' '  Forget  it ! "  Carpenter  exclaimed.  "  I ' ve  found 
the  key-word  and  made  the  translation.  It's 
serious — Very  well,  come  right  in;  I'll  be  waiting. " 

Harleston  scribbled  a  note  to  Mrs.  Clephane  and 
sent  it  up  by  a  page;  he  would  be  back  in  half  an 
hour;  would  she  meet  him  in  the  Alley. 


XXII 

THE  RATAPLAN 

A  MOMENT  before  Harleston's  return,  Madeline 
Spencer,  stepping  out  of  the  F  Street  elevator, 
was  met  by  Snodgrass  who  had  been  walking 
up  and  down  the  lobby.  They  took  a  taxi  and 
sped  away;  followed  closely  by  another  taxi,  which 
their  driver  was  most  careful  not  to  distance.  A 
second  later  Harleston  entered  the  corridor.  As 
he  was  about  to  greet  Mrs.  Clephane,  a  man 
approached  him  and  said: 

"They  have  started,  sir;  Burke's  just  behind 
in  a  taxi — and  both  drivers  are  wise.  They're 
bound  for  the  Rataplan." 

"  Follow  them  and  wait  just  outside, "  Harleston 
ordered — and  turned  to  Mrs.  Clephane.  "I  must 
go  to  the  Rataplan  at  once,"  said  he.  "Let 
us  lunch  there.  The  end  of  the  affair  of  the  cab 
of  the  sleeping  horse  is  in  sight;  I  thought  you 
might  like  to  see  it." 

81  321 


322     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"I  want  to  see  it!"  Mrs.  Clephane  exclaimed. 
"Have  you  found  the  key- word?" 

"  Carpenter  found  it — I'll  tell  you  about  it  on  the 
way  out.  Come  along,  little  lady. " 

"But  why  do  you  suspect  Captain  Snodgrass?" 
she  inquired,  when  Harleston  had  finished  his 
account.  "He  would  not  have  access  to  the  for 
mula,  would  he?" 

"The  man  that  has  access  to  such  secrets  never 
is  the  man  who  actually  delivers,"  he  explained; 
"  he  has  a  confederate.  Snodgrass  is  the  confeder 
ate,  we  think. " 

"Is  this  secret  colloding  process  of  gun-cotton  so 
tremendously  valuable?"  she  asked. 

"It's  a  secret  for  which  any  nation  would  give 
millions  of  dollars.  It's  admittedly  the  most 
powerful  explosive  ever  discovered,  as  well  as  the 
easiest  handled.  Temperature,  weather,  ordinary 
shock  have  absolutely  no  effect  on  it;  in  fire  it 
simply  chars  and  doesn't  explode.  Yet  when  it  is 
exploded  by  the  proper  method,  lyddite,  dynamite, 
and  all  the  other  ites,  are  as  a  gentle  zephyr  in 
comparison.  Now  tell  me  about  last  night ;  where 
were  you?" 


The  Rataplan  323 

"After  you  left,"  she  explained,  "I  wrote  some 
letters,  and  then  went  into  the  corridor  to  drop 
them  in  the  chute  beside  the  elevator  shaft;  as  I 
approached,  the  car  came  down  with  Mrs.  Spencer 
in  it.  Something  impelled  me  to  follow  her;  and 
running  back  I  grabbed  a  cloak,  and  dashed  for 
the  elevator,  catching  it  on  the  fly.  She  wasn't  in 
the  main  corridor ;  on  a  chance,  I  hurried  to  the  F 
Street  entrance ;  I  got  there  just  as  she  stepped  into 
a  taxi  and  shot  away.  Instantly  I  called  another 
taxi  and  told  the  driver  to  follow  the  car  that  had 
just  departed.  He  did  for  a  little  way;  but  in  a 
sudden  halt  of  traffic  at  Vermont  Avenue  and  H 
Street,  where,  you  may  remember,  the  street  is 
torn  up,  we  lost  the  other  taxi;  and  though  we 
drove  around  the  north-west  section  for  more 
than  an  hour  on  the  chance  that  we'd  come 
up  with  it — my  driver  knew  the  other  driver 
— we  never  did  come  up  with  it.  But  as  we 
rolled  up  to  the  Chateau,  Mrs.  Spencer  was 
alighting  from  a  limousine  with  a  tall,  fine- 
looking,  fair-haired  chap  who  had  the  walk  of 
a  military  man." 

"Snodgrass,"  Harleston  observed. 

"She  saw  me;  and,  with  a  maliciously  charming 


324     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

smile,  nodded  and  went  on.  In  the  corridor  I  came 
on  some  friends  and  we  talked  awhile.  Then  I 
went  up  to  my  apartment,  got  your  message,  and 
telephoned  to  you." 

"Don't  do  it  again,"  he  cautioned.  "It  was 
very  dangerous." 

They  turned  in  at  the  Rataplan  and  drew  up  at 
the  carriage  entrance.  Harleston  helped  Mrs. 
Clephane  from  the  taxi  and  they  passed  into  the 
Club-House. 

He  inquired  of  the  doorman  whether  Mr. 
Carpenter  was  in,  and  another,  servant,  who  over 
heard  the  question,  added  that  Mr.  Carpenter  was 
in  the  dining-room.  Harleston  and  Mrs.  Clephane 
went  directly  in  and  to  a  table  next  to  Carpenter's. 
Three  tables  away  were  Madeline  Spencer  and 
Snodgrass. 

Harleston  nodded  to  Mrs.  Spencer  and  to  Snod 
grass,  then  spoke  to  Carpenter  and  invited  him 
over. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  will  remember  me,  Mrs. 
Clephane,"  said  Carpenter,  coming  across.  "I 
met  you  several  years  ago  in  Paris." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Carpenter,  I  remember 
you!"  Mrs.  Clephane  replied. 


The  Rataplan  325 

"Anything?"  Harleston  asked,  without  moving 
his  lips. 

"Nothing.  I  was  here  when  they  arrived," 
Carpenter  replied  in  the  same  manner — and  went 
back  to  his  table. 

"Who  is  the  woman  with  Harleston?  "  Snodgrass 
asked  Mrs.  Spencer.  "I've  never  seen  her." 

"A  Mrs.  Clephane, "  Madeline  Spencer  replied. 
"She's  very  good-looking,  isn't  she?" 

"I'm  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  lady  immedi 
ately  in  my  fore,"  he  smiled.  "I  don't  run  to 
blondes " 

"When  you're  with  a  brunette!"  she  smiled 
back. 

"I  don't  run  to  anyone  when  I'm  with  you," 
he  replied  with  quiet  earnestness,  leaning  toward 
her  across  the  table. 

She  shot  him  a  knowing  glance.  Last  night  she 
had  held  him  to  strict  propriety.  Today  in  the 
taxi  she  had  deliberately  set  herself  to  fascinate 
him,  and  had  succeeded  well.  She  had  been 
demurely  tantalizing — holding  him  at  a  distance, 
letting  him  come  a  little  nearer,  bringing  him  up 
sharply ;  all  the  tricks  of  the  trade  executed  with  a 
perfection  of  technic  and  a  mastery  of  effect. 


326     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Snodgrass,  with  all  his  experience,  was  but  a  novice 
in  her  hands;  she  always  struck  directly  at  the 
affections — got  them:  and  then  the  rest  was  easy. 
She  never  lost  her  head,  nor  allowed  her  own 
affections  to  become  involved;  save  only  twice — 
and  both  those  times  she  had  failed.  Snodgrass, 
she  had  learned  through  inquiries,  had  quite 
sufficient  money  to  make  him  worth  her  while; 
moreover,  he  was  such  a  big,  good-natured, 
dependable  chap — and  a  gentleman.  If  he  had 
not  been  a  gentleman  he  would  not  have  attracted 
Madeline  Spencer  for  an  instant.  She  dealt  only 
in  gentlemen. 

She  had  not  told  Snodgrass  of  the  Clephane 
letter,  nor  anything  as  to  Harleston  except  to 
refer  casually  to  him  as  the  confidential  emissary 
in  delicate  matters  of  the  State  Department.  She 
had  found  that  Snodgrass  was  not  the  actual 
man  in  the  case;  that  he  was  simply  a  friendly 
confederate,  or  rather,  to  use  his  own  words,  "a 
friend  of  Davidson."  She  had  expected  that  the 
package  or  letter  would  be  delivered  to  her  in  the 
taxi;  but  Snodgrass  had  told  her  as  soon  as  they 
were  started  that  Davidson  would  forward  it  to 
him  at  the  Rataplan  by  mail,  not  later  than  the 


The  Rataplan  327 

two  o'clock  delivery.  He  would  get  it  as  they 
were  leaving  and  transfer  it  to  her,  accepting 
the  consideration  as  specified  by  Davidson,  and 
receipting  for  it.  He  said  flatly  that  he  did  not 
want  to  know  the  contents  of  the  letter;  he  was 
doing  this  favour  for  Davidson.  He  understood 
that  it  was  to  be  entirely  sub  rosa  and  that  nothing 
must  ever  transpire  as  to  it.  Therefore  he  was 
prepared  to  forget  the  entire  episode  the  moment 
it  was  over;  the  epochal  meetings  with  her  he 
would  not  forget,  nor  would  he  permit  her  to  forget 
him  if  constant  devotion  and  assiduous  attention 
were  of  avail.  To  which  she  had  made  a  most 
demurely  fitting  answer,  and  the  conversation 
thereafter  grew  exceedingly  confidential.  Oh,  they 
were  getting  on  very  well  indeed  when  the  Rata 
plan  was  reached.  And  they  were  still  progressing 
very  well — in  a  discreetly  informal  way. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Clephane  and  Harleston 
was  unexpected  to  Mrs.  Spencer;  Carpenter  was  a 
stranger  to  her  and  she  had  thought  nothing  of 
him ;  but  when  he  spoke  to  Harleston,  and  seemed 
to  know  Mrs.  Clephane,  she  put  him  on  the  list  of 
the  enemy.  She  kept  him  there  when  Snodgrass 
told  her  his  name  and  position  in  the  Diplomatic 


328     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Service  and  that  it  was  reputed  there  was  no 
cipher  too  difficult  for  him  to  solve. 

"We  would  better  be  very  circumspect,"  she 
said  low.  "I  think  that  these  two  men  are  here 
to  watch  us;  they  know  that  I'm  in  the  Secret 
Service,  of  Germany,  and  they're  naturally  sus 
picious  of  me." 

"Carpenter  was  here  when  we  came  in,"  Snod- 
grass  remarked.  "He  was  sitting  in  the  lobby. 
However,  if  you  prefer,  I'll  let  my  mail  go  until 
evening. " 

"We  can  decide  when  we're  through  luncheon, " 
she  replied.  "Haste  is  of  vital  importance,  my 
instructions  say.  I  had  hoped  to  get  away 
on  the  midnight  train  for  New  York,  and  to  sail 
tomorrow  for  England. " 
[/'I  had  hoped  to  do  the  same!"  he  whispered. 

"Really?"  she  asked. 

"More  than  really!  May  I?"  leaning  for 
ward. 

"If  you  care  to,  Captain  Snodgrass.  It  will  be 
very  pleasant  to  have  you  on  board. " 

"And  afterward?" 

"You  may  not  care  for  the  afterward,"  she 
murmured. 


The  Rataplan  329 

"I'll  risk  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "We'll  sail  to 
morrow. 

"And  the  letter?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  get  it  for  you — or  have  it  along!" 

"What  about  the  consideration?" 

"Hang  the  consideration.  I'll  pay  it  myself,  if 
need  be. " 

"No,  no,  my  friend!"  she  laughed.  "I'm  not 
worth  so  much,  nor  anything  near  it.  And  even 
though  I  were,  I'd  not  permit  the  wasteful 
extravagance. " 

She  might  have  added  that  she  had  no  objection 
whatever  to  his  wasteful  extravagance,  in  fact,  she 
would  rather  encourage  it,  if  she  were  its  object. 
Only  that  must  come  later — after  the  present 
business  was  finished,  and  they  had  sailed  from 
New  York.  How  long  the  extravagance  would 
continue  was  dependent  on  the  depth  of  his  purse 
and  his  disposition. 

"Wasteful  extravagance  does  not  apply  where 
you  are  concerned, "  he  replied.  "However,  we'll 
let  Germany  pay  the  consideration,  and  I'll  have 
that  much  more  to  spend  on  you. " 

She  rewarded  him  with  one  of  her  alluringly 
ravishing  smiles  and  a  touch  of  her  slender  foot. 


330     The'  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

She  had  him — and  she  knew  she  had  him.  She 
would  be  Madeline  Spencer  once  again — always 
having  a  victim,  and  always  ready  for  a  fresh  one. 
Since  she  had  failed  with  Harleston,  what  mattered 
it  how  many  the  victims,  or  what  the  price  they 
paid. 


XXIII 

CAUGHT 

"MRS.  SPENCER  and  her  friend  have  reached 
some  sort  of  an  understanding,"  Mrs.  Clephane 
remarked.  "She  just  smiled  at  him  significantly 
and  pressed  his  foot. " 

"I  noticed  the  smile  but  not  the  foot  business," 
Harleston  chuckled.  "It's  something  quite  per 
sonal  to  them,  I  take  it!" 

"Exactly;  but  what's  the  effect  on  the  matter  in 
hand?  Does  not  this  personal  understanding 
signify  that  the  delivery  of  the  formula  has  been 
arranged,  maybe  even  effected." 

Harleston  nodded.  With  Madeline  Spencer 
it  was,  he  knew,  business  first  and  personal  matters 
afterward. 

"I  think  we  shall  see  the  end  of  the  affair  of 
your  cipher  letter  and  its  ramifications  before  the 
afternoon  is  over,"  he  replied. 

"What  about  the  French  Embassy?"  she  asked. 


332     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"The  Marquis  has  been  advised  that  we  have 
the  translation.  He  will  keep  his  hands  off,  you 
may  believe. " 

"You  think  either  that  Captain  Snodgrass  has 
the  document  in  his  possession,  or  that  he  has 
given  it  to  Mrs.  Spencer?" 

"Or  that  it  will  come  into  his  possession  before 
they  leave  the  Rataplan,  and  be  transferred  to  her 
here  or  in  the  taxi  on  their  way  back  to  town, "  he 
added. 

"What  if  he  transferred  it  to  her  on  their  way 
here?" 

"Then  she  still  has  it — once  she  gets  it  in  her 
possession  she  won't  part  with  it,  even  in  her  sleep, 
until  she  places  it  in  the  hands  of  the  official  who 
sent  her  to  America. " 

"And  Mr.  Carpenter  was  here  to  watch  until  you 
came?" 

"Yes — and  afterward ;  you  see  one  of  us  might  be 
called  away.  From  the  time  she  and  Snodgrass 
met  at  the  Chateau  this  morning,  they  have  not 
been  out  of  espionage  and  close  espionage.  So 
long  as  they  are  in  a  taxi,  or  at  the  Rataplan,  there 
is  no  danger  of  the  document  getting  away  if  either 
of  them  has  it;  but  until  we  are  certain  that 


Caught  333 

they  have  it,  we  won't  detain  them;  we  want  the 
document  to  aid  us  in  running  down  the  traitor. 
I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  Snodgrass  is  aware  of  the 
character  of  the  document.  He  probably  stipu 
lated  not  to  know;  he  will  be  content  with  a  divi 
sion  of  the  money — and  with  a  chance  to  spend 
some  of  it  on  Spencer;  which  spending  she  is  quite 
ready  to  facilitate,  as  witness  the  pleasant  under 
standing  they  seem  to  have  arrived  at  during 
luncheon." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mr.  Harleston?" 
Mrs.  Clephane  asked. 

"I  think  you  will  enjoy  it  better  if  you're  not 
wise,  little  lady!"  he  smiled.  "Moreover,  it  de 
pends  on  circumstances  just  how  it's  to  be  gone 
about — except  that  it  ends  in  the  office  of  the 
Secretary  of  State. — Hush!" 

"The  Secretary  of  State!"  she  exclaimed  low. 

"I've  an  appointment  to  take  Mrs.  Spencer  to 
meet  his  Excellency  at  four  o'clock. " 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me,  Mr. 
Harleston?"  she  smiled. 

"You  mean  at  four  o'clock,  or  permanently?" 

"At  four  o'clock,  sir, "  with  a  charming  lilt  of  the 
head. 


334     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"Take  you  along. " 

' '  With  that  woman  ?    Thank  you ! " 

"No,  with  me." 

"Didn't  you  say  you  had  an  appointment  to 
take  Mrs.  Spencer?" 

"I  did!" 

"You  intend  to  keep  the  appointment?" 

"I  do!" 

"Surely,  sir,  you  don't  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  I  would  go  anywhere  with  Mrs.  Spencer ! " 

"No  more  than  you  imagine  that  I  would  ask 
it  of  you!"  he  smiled. 

"  It  seems  to  me  your  meaning  is  somewhat 
obscure,"  she  retorted.  "However,  whether  you 
don't  mean  it,  or  do  mean  it,  I'll  trust  myself 
to  you  because  it's  you,  Mr.  Harleston. " 

4 '  Permanently,  my  lady  ? ' ' 

"Certainly  not,  sir.  I  refer  only  to  this  after 
noon;  I  want  to  be  in  at  the  end  of  the  game." 

"For  me,"  said  Harleston  slowly,  "it's  been  a 
very  fortunate  game. " 

"Games  are  uncertain  and  sometimes  costly," 
she  shrugged. 

"When  played  with  Spencer,  they  are  both  and 
then  some,"  he  replied. 


Caught  335 

At  that  moment  Carpenter  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  arose,  nodded  pleasantly  to  Mrs. 
Clephane  and  Harleston  as  he  passed,  and  went 
out. 

"Will  Mr.  Carpenter  be  at  the  finish?"  Mrs. 
Clephane  asked. 

"Probably;  but  he'll  be  in  the  lobby  when  we  go 
through. " 

"They  are  going!"  she  whispered.  "And 
they're  coming  this  way. " 

As  Mrs.  Spencer  and  Snodgrass  went  by,  the 
former  with  an  intimate  little  look  at  Harleston, 
said  confidentially: 

"I'll  be  ready  at  half-past  three,  Guy." 

"Very  good!"  Harleston  answered  promptly — 
when  she  was  past,  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Clephane. 

"The  cat!"  she  muttered;  then  smiled  quizzi 
cally.  "Such  a  pleasant  air  of  proprietorship," 
she  observed. 

"Too  pleasant, "  he  returned.  "I've  something 
to  tell  you  as  to  it  and  her,  when  the  present 
matter  is  ended. " 

"Will  it  keep?" 

He  nodded.  "I  can  tell  it  better  then — and 
have  more  time  for  the  telling. " 


336     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

The  headwaiter  approached  casually,  as  though 
surveying  the  table. 

" Well!"  said  Harleston. 

"He  went  to  the  private  mail  boxes;  she's  wait 
ing  in  the  lobby, "  the  man  replied.  "He  received 
a  small  letter,  which  he  opened;  it  enclosed  only 
another  envelope,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket 
without  opening.  He  returned  to  the  lobby  and 
they  left  the  Club-House. " 

Harleston  nodded.  "It's  time  for  us  to  be 
moving,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Clephane.  "Will  you 
trust  me?"  he  asked  as  they  passed  into  the  lobby, 
at  the  far  end  of  which  Carpenter  was  sitting, 
absorbed  in  his  cigar. 

"Absolutely!"  she  replied. 

"And  will  you  go  with  Carpenter;  he  under 
stands?  I'll  be  with  you  shortly.  I  must  act 
quickly  now. " 

Carpenter  arose  as  they  neared. 

"Just  started,"  said  he,  and  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Clephane. 

"Mrs.  Clephane  understands,"  Harleston  ex 
plained.  "I  confide  her  to  your  care.  A 
bientot." 

He  hurried  out.    A  taxi,  waiting  with  power 


Caught  337 

on,  sped  up;  he  sprang  aboard  and  it  raced 
away. 

As  it  neared  the  Connecticut  Avenue  bridge,  the 
taxi  slowed  down  a  trifle  and  the  driver  half-faced 
around. 

"The  other  car  is  just  ahead,  sir,"  he  reported. 

"Very  good,"  said  Harleston.  "Does  the 
driver  know  we're  behind  him?" 

"I've  signalled,  sir,  and  he's  answered." 

"Maintain  the  distance,"  Harleston  directed. 

"Yes  sir,"  said  the  man. 

Keeping  about  a  hundred  yards  apart — the 
two  cars  sped  down  the  hill  and  around  Dupont 
Circle  to  Massachusetts  Avenue,  thence  by  it  and 
Sixteenth  Street  to  H.  The  one  in  the  lead 
continued  on  toward  Fourteenth.  Harleston's 
shot  down  Fifteenth,  flashed  over  the  tracks 
at  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  swung  into  F  Street, 
and  drew  in  at  the  Chateau  just  as  the  other 
came  around  the  Fourteenth  Street  corner,  and 
rolled  slowly  up  to  the  curb. 

As  Snodgrass  was  assisting  Madeline  Spencer  to 
alight — and  taking  his  time  about  it — Harleston 
glanced  at  his  watch,  sprang  from  his  car,  and 
hastened  over. 

M 


338     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"  This  is  fortunate,  Mrs.  Spencer !"  he  exclaimed. 
"Just  after  you  left  the  Rataplan  the  Secretary  of 
State  telephoned  that  he  was  summoned  to  the 
White  House  at  four,  and  I  should  bring  you  an 
hour  earlier.  On  the  chance  of  overtaking  you,  I 
beat  it  after  you.  Now  if  Captain  Snodgrass  will 
permit  you,  we  have  just  time  to  get  over  to  the 
Department. " 

"Will  you  excuse  me,  Captain  Snodgrass?'* 
she  asked,  with  her  compelling  smile. 

"A  Secretary  of  State  may  not  be  denied," 
Snodgrass  replied.  "In  this  instance  in  particular 
I  would  I  were  his  Excellency." 

"Come  and  dine  with  me  at  eight,"  giving  him 
her  hand.  ...  "  Now,  Mr.  Harleston,  I  am 
ready." 

"What  did  you  do  with  Mrs.  Clephane?"she 
asked,  when  they  were  started. 

"I  left  her  at  the  Rataplan,"  he  replied. 

"Alone?" 

"Oh  no — with  Carpenter,  who  chanced  to  be 
handy." 

''The  bald-headed  chap,  who  spoke  to  you  in 
the  dining-room?" 

"Exactly!" 


Caught  '339 

"Carpenter  is  the  chief  of  the  Cipher  Division,  I 
believe  you  said." 

11 1  don't  recall  that  I  said  it,  Madeline,  but  your 
information  is  correct." 

"I  think  I'll  ask  the  Secretary  for  the  letter," 
she  remarked. 

"Ask  him  anything  you've  a  mind  to!"  Harles- 
ton  laughed.  "You've  a  very  winning  pair  of 
black  eyes  et  cetera,  my  lady." 

"I've  never  seen  the  Secretary!"  she  smiled. 

1 '  Small  matter.     He'll  see  you,  all  right. " 

"I'll  make  an  impression,  you  think?" 

"If  you  don't,  it  will  be  the  first  failure  of  the 
sort  you've  ever  registered." 

"Except  with  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  You've  had  me 
going  many  times." 

"Yes,  Guy — but  not  now,"  she  whispered. 

"Now,  I'm  strong!"  he  laughed,  bluntly  declin 
ing  the  overture. 

"Hence  you  are  willing  that  I  try  my  smiles  on 
the  Secretary, "  she  retorted. 

"We  are  fellow  diplomats,"  he  countered. 
"You  did  me  a  good  turn  in  the  Du  Plesis  affair; 
I'm  trying  now  to  show  my  appreciation.  More- 


340     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

over,  it  will  give  Snodgrass  an  opportunity  to 
reflect  on  your  beauty  and  fascinating  ways — 
and  to  look  forward  to  eight  o'clock. " 

"It  is  pleasant  to  have  something  agreeable  to 
look  forward  to, "  she  replied,  ironically  suggestive. 

"Isn't  it?"  he  approved.  "I  don't  know  any 
thing  more  pleasant — unless  it  is  the  finishing 
stroke  of  an  affaire  Diplomatique." 

"Do  you  anticipate  the  finishing  stroke  to  the 
present  affair?" 

"In  due  time." 

"Due  time?"  she  inflected. 

"Whatever  is  necessary  in  the  premises,"  he 
explained. 

"It  hasn't  then  gotten  beyond  the  premises?" 

"No,  it  hasn't  gotten  beyond  the  premises," 
he  replied — with  an  inward  chuckle. 

There  was  no  occasion  to  explain  that,  by  the 
latter  premises,  he  meant  herself.  His  whole 
scheme  was  dependent  on  her  having  the  trai 
torous  letter  in  her  possession.  He  was  quite 
sure  Snodgrass  had  received  it  by  mail  at  the 
Rataplan;  and  why  had  he  put  the  unopened 
envelope  in  his  pocket  unless  to  give  it  to  her  on 
their  way  to  the  Chateau.  And  as  he  (Harleston) 


Caught  341 

had  caught  her  as  she  alighted  from  the  taxi,  and 
had  hurried  her  off  to  the  State  Department,  she 
must  still  have  it.  Of  course,  there  was  the 
possibility  that  Snodgrass  had  not  yet  delivered 
it;  so  Snodgrass  was  being  looked  after  by  others. 

"Won't  you  give  me  a  line  on  his  Excellency, 
Guy?"  she  asked.  "Is  he  easy,  or  difficult,  or 
neither?" 

"I  may  not  betray  the  weak  points  of  my 
chief!"  Harleston  smiled.  "Moreover,  here  we 
are, "  as  the  taxi  came  to  a  stop  on  the  Seventeenth 
Street  side  of  an  atrociously  ugly,  and  miserably 
inadequate  building  that  partially  houses  three 
Departments  of  the  great  American  Government. 

"Am  I  to  be  left  alone  with  the  great  one?" 
she  asked,  as  they  went  up  the  steps  from  the 
sidewalk. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  he  inquired. 

"Wait  until  I  signal!" 

"And  if  his  Excellency  signals  first?" 

"It  will  be  for  me  to  influence  that  signal,"  she 
replied. 

They  took  the  private  elevator  to  the  next  floor. 
The  old  negro  messenger  was  waiting  at  the  door  of 
the  reception  room  and  he  bowed  to  the  floor — a 


342     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

portion  of  the  bow  was  for  Harleston,  but  by  far  the 
larger  portion  was  for  Madeline  Spencer. 

"  De  Sec'eta'y,  seh,  am  waiting  for  you  all  at  onct, 
Mars  Ha'lison,"  he  said;  and  ushering  them  across 
the  big  room  to  the  Secretary's  private  office  he 
swung  back  the  heavy  door  and  bowed  them  into 
the  Presence. 

As  she  passed  the  threshold,  Mrs.  Spencer  caught 
her  breath  sharply,  and  straightened  her  shoulders 
just  a  trifle.  She  saw  where  she  stood,  and  what 
was  coming.  Very  well — she  would  defeat  them 
yet. 


XXIV 

THE  CANDLE  FLAME 

THE  Secretary  was  standing  by  the  window;  with 
him  were  Mrs.  Clephane  and  Carpenter. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Spencer!"  he  said,  with 
out  waiting  for  the  formal  presentation. 

She  dropped  him — Continental  fashion — a  bit  of 
curtsy  and  offered  him  her  slender  fingers;  which, 
as  well  as  the  rest  of  her  hand,  he  took  and  held. 
Its  shapeliness  together  with  her  beauty  of  face 
and  figure  were  instantly  swept  up  by  his  apprais 
ing  glance. 

"Your  Excellency  is  very  gracious!"  she  mur 
mured,  bestowing  on  him  a  look  that  fairly  dizzied 
him. 

Small  wonder,  he  thought,  that  she  was  reputed 
the  most  fascinating  and  loveliest  secret  agent 
in  Europe — and  the  most  dangerous  to  the  other 
party  involved;  it  would  be  a  rare  man,  indeed, 
who  could  withstand  such  charms,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  alluring  and  appealing  ways  that  must  go 

343 

' 


344     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse  ' 

with  them.  If  he  only  might  try  them — just 
to  test  his  own  fine  power  of  resistance  and  ada 
mantine  will!  He  shot  a  quick  glance  of  sup 
pressed  irritation  at  Harleston — and  Madeline 
Spencer  saw  it  and  smiled,  turning  the  smile 
toward  Harleston. 

"I  know  what  you  are  about  to  do,"  the  smile 
said.  "Now  do  it  if  you  can.  You  were  afraid 
to  trust  me  alone  with  this  man;  you  knew  how 
easy  he  would  be  for  me.  Proceed  with  your  game, 
Mr.  Harleston — and  play  it  out. " 

Meanwhile  the  Secretary,  still  holding  her  hand, 
was  saying: 

"Let  me  present  the  Fifth  Assistant  Secretary 
of  State,  Mr.  Carpenter; — "  and  Carpenter  re 
ceived  a  smile  only  a  little  less  dazzling  than  that 
bestowed  on  his  chief —  "I  believe  you  have  met 
Mrs.  Clephane, "  he  ended,  and  only  then  did  he 
release  her  hand. 

"Yes,  I  have  met  Mrs.  Clephane,"  she  replied 
indifferently,  and  without  so  much  as  a  glance  her 
way. 

It  was  to  be  a  battle,  so  why  delay  it? 

"Your  Excellency,"  said  she,  "when  this  ap 
pointment  was  made,  some  days  ago,  I  thought  that 


The  Candle  Flame  345 

it  was  merely  to  enable  an  insignificant  woman  to 
say  that  she  had  met  a  great  dignitary  and  famous 
man.  I  think  so  no  longer.  It  has  assumed  an  in 
ternational  significance.  I  am  here  not  as  plain 
Madeline  Spencer  but  as  Madeline  Spencer  of  the 
German  Secret  Service.  It  seems  that  a  certain 
letter  intended  for  the  French  Ambassador  has  gone 
astray,  and  has  come  into  your  possession ;  there 
fore  I  am  to  be  asked  to  explain  the  matter, 
though  I've  never  seen  the  letter  nor  know  the 
cipher  in  which,  I  am  told  by  Mr.  Harleston,  it  is 
written.  So  what  is  it  you  would  of  me,  your 
Excellency?" 

' '  My  dear  Madame  Spencer,"  said  the  Secretary, 
"what  you  say  as  to  the  original  reason  for  this 
little  meeting,  arranged  by  our  mutual  friend,  Mr. 
Harleston,  is  absolutely  correct — except  that  it 
was  a  mere  man  who  was  desirous  of  being  pre 
sented  to  a  beautiful  and  a  famous  woman.  It 
seems,  however,  that  certain  circumstances  have 
suddenly  arisen  that  made  it  imperative  for  the 
meeting  to  be  advanced  half  an  hour " 

"What  are  those  circumstances,  may  I  ask?" 
she  cut  in. 

"I  shall  have  to  request  Mr.  Harleston  to  an- 


346     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

swer.  To  be  quite  candid,  Madame  Spencer,  I  can 
only  infer  them;  Mr.  Harleston  arranged  them." 

She  turned  to  Harleston  with  a  mocking  smile. 

"I  am  listening,  monsieur,"  she  inflected. 
"What  is  it  you,  or  rather  America,  would  of 
me?" 

"The  letter  you  have  in  your  possession,"  said 
Harleston. 

"The  letter!"  she  marvelled.  "Why,  Mr. 
Harleston,  you  know  quite  well  that  I  never  had 
the  Clephane  letter. " 

"Very  true;  we  have  the  Clephane  letter,  as  you 
style  it ;  and  we  have  also  a  translation.  What  we 
want  from  you  is  the  letter  that  Captain  Snod- 
grass  took  from  his  mail  box  at  the  Rataplan  this 
afternoon,  and  gave  to  you  in  the  taxi  on  the  way 
to  the  Chateau. " 

She  smiled  incredulously. 

"Absurd,  sir!"  she  replied.  "Surely  you  are 
not  serious!" 

"Let  me  be  entirely  specific,"  he  returned. 
"I'll  put  all  my  cards  on  the  table  and  play  them 
open. " 

"Double  dummy,  by  all  means!"  she  laughed, 
perching  her  lithe  length  on  the  arm  of  a  chair, 


The  Candle  Flame  347 

one  slender  foot  swinging  slowly  back  and  forth. 
"Your  play,  monsieur." 

"There  is  no  need  to  go  back  farther  than  this 
morning,"  he  observed.  "We  knew  that  you 
were  to  meet  Captain  Snodgrass  and  lunch  with 
him  at  one  o'clock  at  the  Rataplan.  Your  man 
Marston,  when  he  visited  Mr.  Carpenter  this 
morning,  managed  inadvertently  to  furnish  the 
key-word  of  the  Clephane  letter.  Do  you  see 
whither  your  meeting  with  Snodgrass,  an  ex-officer 
of  the  Army,  in  view  of  the  translation  of  the  letter 
leads,  Madeline?  Marston,  I  might  remark,  was 
quickly  apprehended;  if  he  made  a  copy  of  the 
letter,  he  had  no  opportunity  to  use  it.  Well, 
you  went  to  the  Rataplan  with  Snodgrass — every 
movement  you  two  made,  from  the  time  you 
joined  Snodgrass  at  the  Chateau  until  I  myself 
put  you  in  my  cab  when  you  returned  to  the 
hotel,  was  observed  by  numerous  and  competent 
shadows.  We  were  convinced  that  you  were  to 
receive  the  formula " 

4 '  What  formula,  Guy  ? ' ' 

"The  formula  mentioned  in  the  Clephane 
letter,"  he  explained;  "which  formula  you  re 
ceived  from  Snodgrass  during  the  ride  back  from 


348     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

the  Rataplan  to  the  Chateau.  He  received  it  there 
by  post,  and  got  it  from  his  box  as  you  were  leav 
ing.  He  even  was  foolish  enough  to  open  the  origi 
nal  envelope,  and  to  put  the  one  enclosed,  un 
opened,  in  his  pocket.  You  immediately  took  a 
taxi  for  the  Chateau.  My  taxi  was  close  behind 
yours;  and  I  caught  you  as  you  were  alighting 
and  hurried  you  off  to " 

"This  pleasant  appointment!"  she  laughed. 
"I  suppose,  Guy,  you  want  the  envelope  and  con 
tents — which  you  assume  Captain  Snodgrass  trans 
ferred  to  me  in  the  taxi;  n'est-ce  pas?" 

"Exactly,  Madeline." 

"And  it's  three  strong  men  and  one  woman 
against  poor  me,"  she  shrugged — "unless  Mrs. 
Clephane  is  merely  a  disinterested  spectator." 

"I  am  always  interested  in  what  Mr.  Harleston 
does,"  Edith  replied  sweetly. 

"Particularly  when  he  is  doing  another  woman, " 
was  the  retort. 

"It  depends  somewhat  on  the  woman  done," 
said  Edith. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  Mrs.  Spencer  laughed. 

"To  see  the  end  of  the  affair  of  the  cab-of-the- 
sleeping-horse. " 


The  Candle  Flame  349 

Mrs.  Spencer  shrugged  and  turned  to  Harleston. 

"Do  you  expect  to  end  it,  Guy?"  she  asked. 
' '  Because  if  you  do,  and  this  formulaic  letter,  that 
you  think  I  have,  will  end  it,  I  am  sorry  indeed  to 
disappoint  you.  I  haven't  that  letter,  nor  do  I 
know  anything  as  to  it. " 

"In  that  event  you  have  the  consideration  which 
you  were  to  pay  for  the  letter,"  Harleston  re 
turned. 

"My  dear  Guy,  where  would  I  carry  this 
consideration?"  she  laughed,  with  a  sweeping 
motion  to  her  narrow  lingerie  gown  that  could 
not  so  much  as  conceal  a  pocket. 

"I  don't  imagine  that  you  are  carrying  gold  or 
even  Bank  of  England  notes.  You're  not  so  crude. 
The  consideration  is,  most  likely,  a  note  to  the 
German  Ambassador,  on  the  presentation  of 
which  the  money  will  be  paid  in  good  American 
gold.  And  I'm  so  sure  of  the  facts  that  it  is 
either  the  formula  or  the  consideration.  The 
latter  we  shall  not  appropriate ;  the  former  we  shall 
keep." 

"And  if  I  have  neither?"  she  asked. 

"Then  we  get  neither — though  that  is  a  consum 
mation  most  unlikely." 


350     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

"And  how  are  you  to  determine?" 

"By  your  gracious  surrender  of  it!" 

She  laughed  softly.  "But  if  I  am  not  able 
to  be  gracious?" 

"I  trust  that  we  shall  not  be  obliged  to  go  so 
far. "  And  when  she  would  have  answered  he  cut 
her  short,  courteously  but  with  finality.  "You've 
lost,  Madeline ;  now  be  a  good  loser.  You've  won 
from  me,  and  made  me  pay  stakes  and  then  some 
— and  I've  paid  and  smiled. " 

"Exactly!  You've  paid;  I  can't  pay,  because 
one  loses  before  one  pays,  and  I  haven't  anything 
to  lose." 

"You  will  prove  it?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly,"  said  she.  "Do  you  wish  me  to 
submit  to  a  search?" 

"I  don't  wish  it,  but  you  have  left  no  alter 
native.  " 

"Burr!"  went  the  telephone. 

The  Secretary  answered.  "Here  is  Mr.  Har- 
leston, "  he  said  and  pushed  the  instrument 
over. 

"This  is  Ranleigh, "  came  the  voice.  "We've 
searched  the  man,  also  the  cab,  and  found  nothing 
beyond  some  innocent  personal  correspondence. 


The  Candle  Flame  351 

We've  retained  the  correspondence  and  let  the 
man  go. " 

"That,  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Spencer  remarked  as 
Harleston  hung  up  the  receiver,  "was  to  say  that 
Mr.  Snodgrass  and  the  cab  have  been  thoroughly 
searched  and  nothing  suspicious  found." 

"Your  intuition  is  marvellous,"  Harleston 
answered.  "Major  Ranleigh's  report  was  that 
exactly.  Consequently,  Madeline,  the  letter  must 
be  with  you." 

•  "How  about  the  consideration  that  Captain 
Snodgrass  received  from  me  in  return  for  the 
formulaic  letter?"  she  asked.  "He  doesn't  seem 
to  have  had  it." 

"Maybe  you  managed  both  to  get  the  letter 
from  him  and  to  keep  the  consideration.  It 
would  not  be  the  first  time  I  have  known  you 
to  accomplish  it." 

"Only  once — against  you,  Guy!"  she  laughed. 

Which  was  a  lie;  but  scored  for  her — and,  for  the 
moment,  silenced  him. 

She  shot  a  glance  at  the  Secretary.  He  was 
beating  a  tattoo  on  the  pad  before  him  and  looking 
calmly  at  her — as  impersonal  as  though  she  were  a 
door- jamb ;  and  she  understood :  however  much  he 


352     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

might  be  inclined  to  aid  her,  this  was  not  the  time 
for  him  even  to  appear  interested.  On  another 
occasion,  d,  deux,  he  would  display  sufficient  ardour 
and  admiration.  At  present  it  must  be  the  im 
passive  face  and  the  judicial  manner.  The  busi 
ness  of  the  great  Government  he  had  the  honour  to 
represent  was  at  issue ! 

There  being  no  help  from  that  high  and  mighty 
quarter,  she  turned  to  Harleston. 

"Well,"  with  a  shrug  of  resignation,  "I've  lost 
and  must  pay.  Here,"  opening  the  mesh-bag 
that  she  carried,  "is  the " 

She  threw  up  her  hand,  and  a  nasty  little  auto 
matic  was  covering  the  Secretary's  heart. 

He  gave  a  shout — and  sat  perfectly  still.  Mrs. 
Clephane,  with  an  exclamation  of  fear,  laid  her 
hand  on  Harleston's  arm.  Carpenter  was  impas 
sive.  Harleston  suppressed  a  smile. 

"Tell  them  if  I  can  shoot  straight,  Guy,"  Mrs. 
Spencer  said  pleasantly;  "and  meanwhile  do  you 
all  keep  your  exact  distance  and  position.  Speak 
your  piece,  Mr.  Harleston — tell  his  Excellency  if  I 
can  shoot." 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  assume  it  without  the 
testimony  of  Mr.  Harleston,  or  ocular  demon- 


The  Candle  Flame  353 

stration  in  this  immediate  direction,"  the  Secre 
tary  remarked  with  a  weak  grin. 

"Tell  him,  if  I  can  shoot,  Guy,"  she  ordered. 

"I've  never  seen  her  better,"  Harleston  ad 
mitted;  "though  I'm  not  at  all  fearful  for  your 
Excellency.  Mrs.  Spencer  won't  shoot;  she's 
only  bluffing.  If  you'll  say  the  word,  I'll  engage 
to  disarm  her." 

"Meanwhile  what  happens  to  his  Excellency?" 
Madeline  Spencer  mocked. 

"Nothing  whatever — except  a  few  nervous 
moments." 

"Try  it,  Mr.  Secretary,  and  find  out!"  she 
laughed  across  the  levelled  revolver. 

"Train  your  gun  on  Mr.  Harleston  and  test 
him,"  the  Secretary  suggested,  attempting  to  be 
facetious  and  failing. 

Mrs.  Spencer  might  be,  probably  was,  bluffing 
but  he  did  not  propose  to  be  the  one  to  call  it ;  the 
result  was  quite  too  uncertain.  He  had  never 
looked  into  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver,  and  he  found 
the  experience  distinctly  unpleasant — she  held 
the  barrel  so  steady  and  pointed  straight  at  his 
heart.  Diplomatic  secrets  were  wanted  of  course, 
but  they  were  not  to  be  purchased  by  the  life  of  the 

33 


354     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Secretary  of  State,  nor  even  by  an  uncertain  chance 
at  it. 

"Mr.  Harleston's  life  isn't  sufficiently  valuable 
to  the  nation,"  she  replied.  "I  prefer  to  shoot 
you,  if  necessary — though  I  trust  it  won't  be 
necessary.  What's  a  mere  scrap  of  paper,  without 
value  save  as  a  means  to  detect  its  author,  com 
pared  to  the  life  of  the  greatest  American  diplo 
mat?  Moreover,  the  letter  would  yield  you 
nothing  as  to  its  meaning  nor  its  author.  The 
meaning  you  already  know,  since  you  have  found 
the  key- word  to  the  cipher;  so  only  the  author 
remains;  and  as  it  is  typewritten  you  will  have 
small,  very  small,  prospect  from  it. "  She  had 
read  the  Secretary  aright — and  now  she  asked: 
"Am  I  not  correct,  your  Excellency?" 

"I  think  you  are, "  the  Secretary  replied.  "We 
all  are  obligated  and  quite  ready  to  give  our  lives 
for  our  country,  if  the  sacrifice  will  benefit  it  in 
the  very  least ;  yet  I  can't  see  the  obligation  in  this 
instance,  can  you  Harleston?" 

"None  in  the  least,  sir,  provided  your  life  were 
at  issue,"  Harleston  answered.  "For  my  part,  I 
think  it  isn't  even  seriously  threatened.  If  Mrs. 
Spencer  will  shift  her  aim  to  me,  I'll  take  a  chance." 


The  Candle  Flame  355 

Mrs.  Clephane  gave  a  suppressed  "exclamation 
and  an  involuntary  motion  of  protest — and  Mrs. 
Spencer  saw  her. 

"Mrs.  Clephane  seems  to  be  concerned  lest  I 
accept!"  she  jeered. 

Mrs.  Clephane  blushed  ravishingly,  and  Harles- 
ton  caught  her  in  the  act;  whereupon  she  blushed 
still  more,  and  turned  away. 

"Play  acting!"  mocked  Madeline  Spencer — 
then,  shrugging  the  matter  aside,  she  turned  to  the 
Secretary.  ' '  Since  we  two  are  of  one  mind  in  the 
affair  before  us,  your  Excellency, "  she  observed, 
"I  fancy  I  may  take  it  as  settled.  Nevertheless 
you  will  pardon  me  if  I  don't  depress  my  aim 
until  we  have  attended  to  a  little  matter;  it  will 
occupy  us  but  a  moment, "  making  a  step  nearer 
the  desk  and  away  from  the  others,  yet  still  holding 
them  in  her  eye. 

"What  is  it  you  wish,  madame?"  the  Secretary 
inquired  a  trifle  huskily;  his  throat  was  becoming 
somewhat  parched  by  the  anxiety  of  the  situation. 

"I  see  you  have  on  your  desk  a  small  blue 
candle;  employed,  I  assume,  for  melting  wax  for 
your  private  seal, "  she  went  on.  "May  I  trouble 
your  Excellency  to  light  the  aforesaid  candle?" 


356     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

X 

The  Secretary  promptly  struck  a  match,  and 
managed  with  a  most  unsteady  hand  to  touch  it  to 
the  wick. 

As  the  flame  flared  up,  she  drew  a  narrow  envel 
ope  from  her  bag  and  tossed  it  on  the  desk  before 
him. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
look  at  the  enclosure." 

The  Secretary  took  up  the  envelope  and  drew  out 
the  sheet.  It  was  a  single  sheet  of  the  thinnest 
texture  used  for  foreign  correspondence.  He 
looked  first  at  one  side,  then  at  the  other. 

"What  do  you  see,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"The  sheet  is  blank,"  he  replied. 

"Try  the  envelope,"  she  recommended. 

He  turned  it  over.     "It  also  is  blank, "  he  said. 

"Sympathetic  ink!"  Carpenter  laughed. 

"Just  what  we  are  about  to  see,  wise  one!" 
she  mocked.  "Now,  your  Excellency,  will  you 
place  the  envelope  in  the  candle's  flame?" 

The  Secretary  took  the  envelope  by  the  tip  of 
one  corner  and  held  it  in  the  blaze  until  it  was 
burned  to  his  fingers — no  writing  was  disclosed. 

"Now  the  letter,  please?"  she  directed.  And 
when  Carpenter  would  have  protested,  she  cut  him 


The  Candle  Flame  357 

short  with  a  peremptory  gesture.  "Don't  inter 
rupt,  sir!"  she  exclaimed. 

And  Carpenter  laughed  softly  and  did  nothing 
more — being,  with  Harleston,  in  enjoyment  of 
their  chief's  discomfiture. 

"The  letter — see — your  Excellency,"  she  re 
peated  with  a  bewildering  smile. 

And  as  the  flame  crept  down  the  thin  sheet, 
just  ahead  of  it,  apparent  to  them  all,  crept  also 
the  writing,  brought  out  by  the  heat.  In  a  moment 
it  was  over;  the  last  bit  of  the  corner  burning 
in  a  brass  tray  where  the  Secretary  had  dropped 
it. 

"Now,  Mr.  Harleston,"  said  Madeline  Spencer, 
lowering  her  revolver  as  the  final  flicker  of  the 
flame  expired,  "I  am  ready  to  submit  to  a  search.  " 

Harleston  glanced  inquiringly  at  the  Secretary. 

"The  lady  is  with  you, "  the  Secretary  remarked 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Harleston.  "Ranleigh 
has  a  skilled  woman  in  the  waiting-room,  she  will 
officiate  in  the  matter.  We're  not  likely  to  find 
anything,  but  it's  to  provide  against  the  chance." 
— And  turning  to  Madeline  Spencer:  "Whatever 
the  outcome,  madame,  you  will  leave  Washington 


358     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

tonight  and  sail  from  New  York  on  the  morrow; 
and  I  should  advise  you  to  remain  abroad  so  long 
as  you  are  in  the  Diplomatic  Service. " 

And  she — knowing  very  well  that  the  search  was 
necessary,  and  aware  that  while  there  was  nothing 
incriminating  upon  her  yet  from  that  moment, 
until  the  ship  that  carried  her  passed  out  to  sea, 
she  would  be  under  close  espionage — answered, 
pleasantly  as  though  accepting  a  courtesy  ten 
dered,  and  with  a  winning  smile: 

"I  had  arranged  to  sail  tomorrow,  Mr.  Harles- 
ton,  so  it  will  be  just  as  intended.  Meanwhile, 
I'm  at  the  service  of  your  female  assistant.  She 
will  find  nothing,  I  assure  you." 

"Give  me  the  pleasure  of  conducting  you  to 
her,"  Harleston  replied,  and  swung  open  the  door. 

"If  Mrs.  Clephane  will  trust  you  with  me,"  she 
inflected,  flouting  the  other  with  a  meaning  look; 
which  look  flitted  across  the  room  to  the  Secretary 
and  changed  to  one  of  interrogation  as  it  met  his 
eyes — calm  eyes  and  steady,  and  with  never  a 
trace  of  the  interest  that  she  knew  was  behind 
them,  yet  dared  not  show — yet  awhile. 

And  Mrs.  Clephane  answered  her  look  by  a 
shrug;  and  Harleston  answered  that  to  the  Secre- 


»  The  Candle  Flame  359 

tary  by  a  soft  chuckle.  As  the  door  closed  behind 
them,  he  remarked : 

"At  a  more  propitious  time." 

To  which  she  responded : 

' '  Which  time  may  never  come. ' '  Then  she  held 
out  her  hand.  "Good-bye,  Guy,"  she  smiled. 

"Good-bye,  Madeline, "  said  he;  "and  good  luck 
another  time — with  other  opponents." 

"  And  we'll  call  this " 

"A  stale-mate!  I  didn't  win  everything,  yet 
what  I  lost  was  of  no  moment " 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"To  my  client,  the  United  States,"  he  added. 
"So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Madeline,  we  still  are 
friends. " 

He  put  out  his  hand  again;  she  hesitated  just 
an  instant ;  then,  with  one  of  her  rare,  frank  smiles, 
she  laid  her  own  hand  in  it. 

"Guy,"  she  whispered,  "she  wasn't  as  bad  as 
she  was  painted;  in  fact,  she  wasn't  bad  at  all — and 
I  know." 

"Your  Secretary  of  State  is  a  peculiar  man?" 
Mrs.  Clephane  observed,  as  she  and  Harleston 
came  down  the  steps  into  the  Avenue. 


360     The  Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse 

Harleston  leaned  over.  "I'll  confide  to  you  that 
he  is  an  egotistical  and  insufferable  old  ass,"  he 
whispered. 

"And  yet  he  thinks  he  is  a  perfect  fascinator 
with  the  ladies!"  she  laughed.  "Even  now  he  is 
contemplating  what  a  conquest  he  made  of  Mrs. 
Spencer.  It  was  great  fun  to  watch  her  playing 
him;  and  then  how  suddenly  he  pulled  himself 
up  and  assumed  a  judicial  manner — which  deceived 
no  one.  Certainly  it  didn't  deceive  her,  for  the 
flying  look  she  gave  him,  as  she  went  out,  was  the 
cleverest  thing  she  did.  It  told  him  everything  he 
wanted  to  know,  and  simply  gorged  his  vanity. 
She  may  be,  doubtless  is,  a  bad,  bad  lot;  yet 
nevertheless  I  can't  help  liking  her — and  for 
finesse  and  skill  she  is  a  wonder."  Then  she 
looked  at  him  demurely.  "You're  fond  of  her, 
Mr.  Harleston,  are  you  not?" 

"  I'm  fond  of  her, "  he  replied  slowly;  "but  not  as 
fond  as  I  once  was,  and  not  so  long  ago.  I'll  tell 
you  more  about  it  before  we  go  in  to  dinner  this 
evening." 

"I  wasn't  aware  that  we  were  to  dine  to 
gether.  In  fact,  I  was  thinking  of  doing  some 
thing  else." 


The  Candle  Flame  361 

"But  you  will  dine  with  me  now,  won't  you?" 
he  asked  meaningly. 

Her  eyes  hesitated,  and  fell,  and  a  bewitching 
flush  stole  into  her  cheek;  she  understood  that 
he  asked  of  her  something  more  than  a  mere 
dinner.  And,  after  a  pause,  she  answered  softly, 
yet  not  so  softly  but  that  he  heard : 

"If  you  wish  it,  Monsieur  Harleston. " 


THE  END 


Pieces  of  the 
Game 

ftr 

Countess  de  Chambrun 

Author  of  "  The  Sonnet*  of  Shakespeare,"  etc. 

72°.    $1.35 

The  Countess  de  Chambrun,  formerly  Miss 
Longworth,  here  gives  us  a  frank  and  realistic 
story  of  social  and  diplomatic  life  in  Washing 
ton,  a  story  of  intrigue  and  mystery  whose 
characters,  though  they  be  purely  fictitious, 
move  not  as  puppets  of  the  imagination  but 
as  live  people  of  the  very  "  inner  circle." 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The 
More  Excellent  Way 

By 
Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 

72°.     Color  Frontispiece.     $1*35 

A  tale  of  modern  society  and  the  di 
vorce  question,  with  the  scenes  laid  in 
New  York,  Sorrento,  Bermuda,  and 
Reno.  Rarely  has  an  author,  without 
attempt  at  preaching,  written  a  story  so 
subtly  influential,  so  provocative  of 
thought,  even  while  it  seems  to  leave 
no  time  for  thought  in  the  swift  succes 
sion  of  its  dramatic  developments. 

'"The  More  Excellent  Way'  de 
serves  good  place  on  the  shelf  of  read 
able  books."— AT.  Y.  Times. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


To  the  Minute 

By 
Anna  Katharine  Green 

Author    of    "The    Leavenworth    Case,"    "That    Affair 
Next  Door,"  etc. 

72°.     Color  Frontispiece.    $1.00 

A  fascinating  story  by  "the  foremost  writer 
of  mystery  novels  in  America."  A  rebellious 
boy,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  runs  away  from 
"  home "  where  he  has  lived  with  his  miserly 
grandfather.  At  the  old  man's  death  (from 
suicide),  he  is  called  back  by  his  cousin  Judith, 
also  an  orphan  and  the  only  other  heir  to  the 
miser's  money.  There  is  a  third  person,  who 
had  tried  to  induce  Judith  to  marry  him,  and 
around  these  three  and  the  forbidding  house  is 
woven  the  most  exciting  mystery  story  of  many 
a  day. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The 
Breath  of  the  Dragon 

A  Romance  of  Modern  China 

By 
A.  H.  Fitch 

12°.     Color  Frontispiece.     $1.35 

The  story  deals  in  part  with  Legation 
life  in  Peking  but  mainly  with  events  in 
the  imperial  palace  and  among  the  people 
and  the  beggars  of  Peking.  A  perfectly 
correct  portrayal  of  that  extraordinary 
character,  the  Empress  Dowager,  is 
given.  While  not  an  historical  novel, 
the  romance  contains  historical  truths. 
The  author  is  a  niece  of  a  former  U.  S. 
Minister  to  China  and  lived  there  with 
her  aunt  and  uncle  for  two  years. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


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The  cab  of  the 
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